


The Quiet

by MilkTeaMiku



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spirits, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spirits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 63,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8028556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkTeaMiku/pseuds/MilkTeaMiku
Summary: Does he not realise he's dead? 
Keith can see ghosts. As a part of his Garrison training, he's sent to a hospital to do one year of medical clerkship - it's there that he meets a charmingly irritating ghost who definitely needs to learn what boundaries are.





	1. The Boy In The Hospital

_“Keith, honey, could you quieten down a little?”_

He was twelve months old when it happened the first time – the first time they noticed it happened, that is. He doesn’t remember it at all, but he’d heard whispers of it – his parents were hidden away in the kitchen, the door half closed, a wedge of yellow light falling across his cheeks as he peered in at them when they thought he couldn’t see them or hear them. Some of their words had become indistinct to him, now, but in his mind he could still hear their feet shuffling against their old linoleum floor, and the rustle of his father’s ironed button-down as he’d shifted against the counter, and the sound of his mother’s bracelet jingling as she gestured with her hand.

_“He’s still doing it,”_ she whispered fervently. _“The talking, he’s still doing it. Why is he still doing it?”_

_“I know, I can hear him just as well as you. It’s probably just an imaginary friend.”_

_“They’re meant to grow out of that. He’s old enough. All the books say so.”_

_“It’s just an imaginary friend.”_

_“It isn’t!”_

She had been insistent, and persuasive. Her worry outweighed her rationality, as was often the case with new mothers and those with flighty but kind personalities. A mother’s instinct was not to be ignored, after all, and her instincts had been right – it hadn’t been an imaginary friend that Keith often spoke to. 

It had been a ghost.

 

As he grew up, Keith realised that it was not, in fact, _normal_ to see ghosts. He had believed that everyone could see them, or that the ghosts were real, average people – maybe both, but neither were the case. There were only a short number of years he could get away with his strangeness regarding the invisible figures being accounted to imaginary friends. Any longer that that self-imposed allotment of time and he would become much too worrisome – he would become a _problem._ It was an odd concept when he was a child, but he learned not to mention the strange people only he could see.

The relief on his mother’s face when he’d consciously feigned ignorance the first time had been odd, too. 

He was much older when he realised that he didn’t exactly mind seeing dead people. For the most part, they were pretty harmless. Dead people couldn’t particularly interact with anything living people could, so they often wandered around with nothing to do but complain. On the odd chance that they _were_ able to pick things up or affect living people, Keith made sure to steer clear of them. He didn’t need a vengeful spirit following after him.

The kinder spirits, however, were much more pleasant to deal with. Sure, they complained as well, but who wouldn’t if one was suddenly dead? At least they didn’t try to possess him. They just wanted to move on, wherever “moving on” would take them. Keith wasn’t all that religious and he didn’t know much about the afterlife, but he did know that the spirits went _somewhere_ after they let go of any resentment keeping them around. There was always something, after all, that left them lingering in places they shouldn’t be. Keith, for the most part, wasn’t interested in helping them, but he was often somehow persuaded to. Quite troublesome, really.

As a part of his pilot training (as that was his desired career), he was required to do a year’s worth of clerkship training. It was a compulsory prerequisite for those employed by the Galaxy Garrison to have medical experience, so the trainees often worked in the local hospital, of which had training facilities and teaching doctors. That was were Keith went. It wasn’t the best place for someone like him, what with the whole dead people situation, but he didn’t complain. He thought he could handle spirits pretty well, especially if he just ignored them. They couldn’t, after all, tell that he could see them unless he made it obvious. 

He was good at hiding it.

 

Expectedly, there were a lot of ghosts at the hospital. They cluttered the hallways like thrown away paper. The first day of his clerkship had Keith jumpy and restless, though to others it could be accounted for as first-day nervousness. Keith’s tutor, however, knew better.

The man was, first and foremost, his cousin. Shiro’s family and Keith’s family were related, and however distant that relationship was, they’d grown up together. Although Shiro was five years older than him, and therefore a qualified pilot in the eyes of the Galaxy Garrison, he was currently employed as a squadron leader. Coincidentally, he was presently watching over Keith’s squad. At times Keith wondered why Shiro hadn’t been sent out into the field, because he did have the best flight records and he was fully qualified as a pilot, but there was a pretty obvious reason.

Shiro only had one arm. Sure, he had a high-tech prosthetic, but it wasn’t flesh-coloured, and despite its startling realness aside from said colour, it was still a replacement. Keith had no doubt that Shiro was nevertheless the best pilot in the Garrison, but the prosthetic did cause some problems – especially considering he’d gotten it on his first flight mission and the Garrison was, therefore, very liable for it. Working in the hospital for a few years seemed to be a good way to slowly ease him back into piloting.

Mostly because it had nothing to do with piloting.

“You’ll mostly be working in Wards Red and Black,” Shiro said. He was handing white coats to Keith’s squad – there were three people, including Keith, but Shiro was only speaking to him for the moment. “Eventually you may be moved to Blue as well, but for now you’ll do filing and record keeping. They explained what you have to do, right?”

Keith nodded.

For training purposes, the Wards had been divided into five sections – Red, Blue, Black, Green and Yellow. The hospital had far too many sections for them to each take one individually, as there weren’t enough students to effectively cover them all, so instead they got a cluster of wards to work in. From what Keith could tell, there were a few predominant sections in each of the Garrison Wards. For example, Red was the centre of the cardiology ward. Similarly, Blue housed the long-term inpatients, particularly those in a coma or those undergoing repetitive therapy.

Keith’s teammates were assigned to the other wards. Hunk, a kind-hearted person with a warm smile and big hands, was in the Yellow and Blue wards. Pidge, a much smaller, bird-like person would take the remaining Green ward. Keith knew that Pidge had a great affinity for technology and was striving to be a technician, so their clerkship would most likely be split between medical training and technician training. 

“You’ll be stationed at the cardiac centre today,” Shiro said, handing Keith a clipboard. “There’ll be a doctor there running scans on patients throughout the day, so you’ll have to watch and learn to take their readings. Everything should be explained to you, so listen well, alright? You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”

Keith nodded again, and took the clipboard. There were several pages trapped under its metal clip, all ready to be filled out. He had a feeling the day was going to be long and boring, but he didn’t dare protest. He could have been sent to the children’s ward, after all, and just thinking about babies screaming from needles and children needily demanding things from him that they didn’t need made him shiver. Keith and children did not get along – that ward was much better suited to Hunk.

He didn’t quite know his way around the hospital yet, but he managed well enough. There were helpful plaques along every wall, so he wasn’t late. An older man, probably in his forties, was the one who was overseeing the unit he was stationed at for the week.

“I’ll be performing Cardiac CTs today,” he said, giving Keith a welcoming look as he led him into the examination room. “The scans take up to half an hour sometimes, so it’s our duty to make sure the patient doesn’t get too stressed. Once the images are taken, they’ll be directed here,” – he pointed at a long table of computer monitors, all set up and ready to go – “before being transformed into a 3D image and x-rays. Some patients might need an iodine-dye injected to make the arteries more prominent on the x-rays, but it’s a simple process. For now, I just want you to watch the scans and go over the paperwork, alright?”

Keith nodded. “Yes, that’s fine. When do we start?”

“Now, if you’re all set. We’ve got a long list of patients.”

Keith familiarised himself with the machines as the doctor went to fetch the first patient. When he re-entered, patient in tow, Keith glanced up.

For a long time, he’d found it difficult to differentiate between ghosts and real people. The ghosts _looked_ real and _sounded_ real, and they moved as if they had weight and substance to them. In recent years, he’d finally figured out how to tell a ghost from a person – by looking. It was irritating, because if he looked for too long then he’d be noticed, but it worked. 

See, even if the ghost appeared real, _fundamentally_ they weren’t. Their edges were kind of blurred, and the closer he got the more he could somewhat see through them. It definitely wasn’t like how ghosts were portrayed in movies and cartoons, but it definitely wasn’t entirely human, either. If he couldn’t see them properly, then Keith had to listen for their footsteps; another dead giveaway was no sound when they walked, though it was often hard to tell in crowded places. Looking at them was the best way Keith could figure out if they were real or not.

It was the same for the person that walked in. Keith could tell straight away who the patient was, because she was staring at the doctor with quite a concerned look on her face and a dainty hand pressed over her heart. She was quite a pretty woman, with curly brown hair and big eyes. She wasn’t wearing any jewellery, and her hair was untied. She was clearly going in the CT scanner. Regardless, however pretty she was, it wasn’t her that caught his attention.

No, it was the boy behind her. He looked about Keith’s age, maybe an inch or two taller. His hair was brown and soft in appearance, and his skin was dark, albeit washed out, but his eyes were shockingly bright and blue. Strangely enough, they reminded Keith of the ocean just before a storm was about to hit. He’d never seen eyes like that, not in a real person or a ghost.

And oh boy was this guy a ghost. There was no doubt about it – he was absolutely _firing_ questions away at the woman, most of them ridiculously inappropriate and forward, and she didn’t seem to hear a thing. He walked after her, grinning, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his army green jacket. 

“We should definitely go out sometime,” he said cheerfully. “Just you, and me, alone, together, together alone.”

It was so bad Keith wanted to cringe. Paperwork forgotten, he could only watch in some sick sort of amusement as the ghost continued to hit on the woman.

“I mean I know I’ve got some baggage, being invisible and all,” he said, “but hey, I’d be our little secret, right? You know you love it.”

_“Invisible”? Does he not realise he’s dead? He looks pretty fit to have died so young…_

Abruptly, those piercing blue eyes flashed right over to him. They were even sharper when they focused on him, and Keith was so surprised by it that he couldn’t help but stare, mouth dropped open.

“Hey, you can see me!”


	2. The Spanish Ghost

Keith jerked his head to the side, firmly fixing his gaze to the dark computer screens in front of him. If either the doctor or the woman noticed his odd behaviour, they didn’t dare mention it. He didn’t want them to notice. People tended to believe he was crazy if they did, and he supposed his deadpan expression didn’t help at all on the matter.

 _“Hola!_ Don’t ignore me, you mullet-haired _niño bonito!”_

Keith forced his face to stay impassive. He couldn’t let the ghost know he’d seen him. _Niño bonito?_ He thought to himself. _What does that mean? Since when do ghosts speak Spanish?_ There was no way he was going to involve himself in a ghost’s problems again. He’d done that far too many times, and each time he recalled those experiences he wanted to cringe. Ghosts could be quite insistent and pushy when they wanted something, and their desires were often completely irrational. 

One ghost in particular – a woman who had died in a car accident – had insisted he build a cross where her car had been run off the road. The family hadn’t particularly appreciated his efforts, nor had they thought he was sane when he tried to explain that their loved one was speaking to him from the afterlife. If the situation had been reversed, he wouldn’t have believed himself either. It was, after all, quite insane to claim to see dead people.

But sometimes the dead people made it so difficult to ignore them that Keith wished he could duct tape their mouths shut. Alas, he could not, and therefore the Spanish ghost was chatting at him like a goddamn cyclone. Keith was _not_ impressed.

“Oi, I saw you staring at me!” The ghost complained. Out of the corner of his eyes Keith could see the ghost disappear before he abruptly reappeared behind him, his reflection standing in the dark screens of the monitor. “Don’t ignore me now! You’re the only one who’s been able to see me, that’s totally not fair, dude.”

Keith pursed his lips. If he didn’t respond, the Spanish ghost would eventually get bored of him. He’d realise Keith couldn’t see ghosts after all… even if he could, in fact, see them. They just didn’t need to know that little fact. That’s what always happened when he accidentally stared at a spirit for a moment too long, in any case. He’d become quite talented at ignoring them.

“You’re not getting out of this one, _niño bonito,”_ the ghost huffed. “I’ll have you know I can be very persistent.”

Keith was already starting to catch that particular memo.

“You know, you look like you’re going to be working here for a while. For how long, huh? Six months, a year? That’s a whole lot of one-sided conversations, you know.”

Keith clenched his fists beneath the table. This ghost was _annoying._ How on earth was it possible for someone dead to be so irritating? He’d never met anyone alive who could talk his ear off so much. He wasn’t even looking at the guy and yet he continued and continued and continued. How was it humanly possible to talk so much in a single breath?

“Man, seriously, you’re a quiet one.”

A cold feeling settled over his shoulders, sending a chilled shiver down Keith’s spine. His eyes flickered towards the computer screen, but he regretted it immediately. The ghost had planted his hands firmly on Keith’s shoulders, and was peering at Keith’s reflection with the biggest shit-eating grin ever on his face. His eyes - why were they so blue? – met Keith’s, and that’s how he knew he was caught.

“There we go!” The ghost cried, triumphant. “Gotcha. Now then, _niño bonito,_ tell me, what is your name? I can’t keep calling you mullet-head forever.”

“I don’t have a mullet,” Keith muttered, irritated.

“What was that, Keith?”

Keith jumped, and turned around to fact the doctor, who peered at him curiously. “It’s nothing,” Keith said, shaking his head. “Are we ready to go?”

The ghost burst out laughing. “Oh, _dios mio!_ You look so crazy right now, talking to an invisible man.”

 _You’re not invisible, you’re dead._ Whatever. Keith had ignored ghosts for more than a decade, he could do it for another day or two until this one got bored. No problem. The more he ignored him, the more likely he’d go away. That’s how it always was, with real people and dead people. The only person who hadn’t ever left him because of his quietness was Shiro. He’d even been expelled from the Garrison at one point, though Shiro had begged the Chairmen to let him return.

Keith sighed, and turned back to the computer monitors. The doctor was leading the woman into the CT scanner room, which left Keith alone in the observation room. Well, alone except for the ghost. 

“You know, I’ve never met anyone who could see me,” the ghost said. “And I’ve been here for a while… Though I’m not sure how long, exactly. By the way, my name is Lance! Lance McClain. Who are you, again?”

 _That name… it sounds familiar._ “It’s Keith,” he muttered, frowning. “Now stop bothering me already.”

Lance gave him an awed, wide-eyed look. “You really can see me!” He cheered. “Wow, I’ve been waiting for this moment for ages! It’s like we were fated to meet, huh?”

“No.”

“Don’t be stingy with your affections, _niño bonito,”_ Lance said, hutting at him. His hands came to rest on Keith’s shoulders again, and Keith almost swore he could actually feel them. “You’ll come to love me, I’m sure. Everybody does. I’m a real charmer!”

Keith didn’t believe so. This ghost was just an irritation. “Will you leave me alone? I’m trying to work here.”

“Pardon, Keith?” The doctor asked, eyes wide in surprise. “Were you talking to me?”

Keith’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “A-ah, no, no you, I was just-”

Hastily, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and shook it accusingly. He tried to wear the guiltiest look he could, though he didn’t think it was that difficult to fake it. Some first impression he was making. At least the doctor seemed to believe his excuse, and only nodded. He didn’t need to remind Keith that phone usage was frowned upon – phones were usually left in lockers, but the keys hadn’t been made for the Garrison students just yet. As soon as they had, they’d be given pagers instead. 

“Man, you’re really embarrassing yourself today, huh?” Lance said, amused. “It’s only morning, too. You’re a bit of a mess, Keith.”

Oh, if only he could punch a ghost. The satisfaction it would bring him would so be worth the humiliation of seemingly hitting thin air. 

“Alright, we’re going to be starting the scan, now,” the doctor said. “Ready to go?”

Keith turned his attention away from Lance. It would be no good for the patient or himself if he was distracted – their health was serious, and he would take it as seriously as he could. “Yes, all ready. I definitely won’t get distracted. Let’s get started.”

 

When Keith was a child, he was much more sensitive to the ghosts than he was now. He’d read online that children were more susceptible to the paranormal anyway, so it made sense that he would notice them more. The only problem had been that he was unable to tell the difference between them and real, living people. It’s why his mother had always been so concerned about him, aside from the obvious reasons. 

The ghosts had always puzzled him. Not because they were dead people who still seemed to live, perhaps even more so than the living, but because they didn’t have the same instinctual urges of living people. People who were alive were distracted – by noise, by sound, by taste, by arousal, by money, by work. It was endless, and unavoidable, and utterly inevitable. There was no way not to be, because the living were offered such distractions liberally and freely.

It was different for those who were dead. They did not need to eat and had no physical bodies to partake in things the living did. In a roundabout way, it meant they had less physical limitations, too. For example, they didn’t need to physically walk to move between two places. It wasn’t exactly teleportation, but it was close enough to be called that, he supposed. 

In the same way, ghosts didn’t have physical urges or instincts. They had nothing to be afraid of – not pain, not monsters, not death. Ghosts weren’t complete people, but rather they were made up of one lingering instinct. The only way to get rid of a ghost was to fulfil that instinct. For a lot of them, they felt resentment over their death, especially if they remembered how it occurred. Other times they wished to farewell a loved one, or seek revenge, or see a special place for the last time.

Sometimes Keith could help them with that. By building a cross at their death site, for example, or by listening to their problems. Sometimes it was an easy fix, but sometimes it wasn’t. Keith didn’t like getting involved with ghosts just because of how unpredictable they could be. Getting mixed up with their anguishes and regrets was not how he particularly liked to spend his weekends. 

When he was a child it was easier. He didn’t have obligations or responsibilities back then, and the ghosts never seemed to ask too much of him. If they did, he didn’t understand, and eventually they left him alone. Sometimes, just the fact that he was a child willing to listen helped the ghosts move on to wherever they went afterwards. 

It was different with ghosts now. They expected more of him, wanted things he couldn’t give them. He didn’t trust them, and wasn’t willing to humiliate himself just to placate their selfish desires. Ghosts could be unreasonable, and irrational. He didn’t like dealing with them, and he had no doubt in his mind that Lance would be exactly the same. It was better not to associate with them at all.

During the evening, as Keith was preparing to go home, Shiro stopped him. “How did your first day go, Keith?” He asked. “You were in cardiology all day, right?”

Keith wasn’t really in the mood to answer questions – he’d been dodging questions from Lance all day – but for Shiro he would. “Yeah, the doctor is really nice. We got a lot of work done.”

“You got the hang of the equipment alright?”

“Yeah. It’s just like flying a plane. Nothing to it.”

Shiro let out a relieved sigh. “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “And how’s the other- the other thing going? You know…”

Keith sighed, too. He hung up his coat and filed away his clipboard, both of which would remain in Shiro’s locker until he received his own. He knew Shiro was just worried about him, but he wished Shiro would just come out and say it properly already. “You mean the ghost thing?”

Shiro jerked at the word, but nodded. He didn’t like the ghosts any more than Keith did, and hated the idea of not being able to see them. At least he believed that Keith could.

“There are heaps here,” Keith said, “but I expected that. They all moan and complain all day, and never stay in one spot for too long. It’s disorientating and annoying, but nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry too much.”

Shiro nodded. “No one’s giving you trouble, right?”

Keith hesitated for a moment. His mind wandered back to Lance, unbidden. That ghost was certainly giving him troubles, but it had only been a day. Keith had a feeling that Lance was the type to get bored of something if it didn’t give him the response he wanted, and Keith certainly wouldn’t give him that.

“Keith?”

“No,” Keith said. “No one’s giving me trouble, not at all.”


	3. The Selfish Desire Of Lance

Not only was there a Spanish ghost in the cardiology ward, but there was a Spanish ghost in the haematology ward, in the consultation rooms, in the cafeteria, _in the bathrooms._ Keith knew unequivocally and indefinitely that Spanish ghosts were, by far, the most irritating. 

Of course, there was only one Spanish ghost, and it was only Lance. 

He was just _infuriating._ Keith had hoped that Lance had forgotten his face. It wasn’t such a farfetched idea, considering it had happened before. Ghosts tended to have quite poor memories, and it wasn’t so uncommon for them to forget ever seeing Keith, even if he happened to communicate with them. He thought it was because the ghosts were only driven by one singular instinct, and therefore they didn’t need to particularly remember anything else. He should have expected that someone as irritating as Lance would be an exception. 

“Seriously, can’t you leave me alone?” Keith demanded as he slammed the bathroom door shut. He locked it for good measure, flustered and red faced, before turning to give Lance a withering look. All day he’d had Lance chatting away in his ears, sometimes so loud he couldn’t hear what was being spoken to him. Not to mention Lance was incredibly touchy. He liked to put his hands on Keith’s arms or link their elbows or even through his arm across Keith’s shoulders. 

It wasn’t like Keith could exactly feel anything from Lance’s touches, but the sudden cold flashes and chills he got racing down his spine weren’t pleasant at all. They always made him jump, no matter how prepared he was for them, and the amount of times he’d dropped things that day was laughable. What if he dropped important, expensive equipment? He certainly didn’t make enough money to replace anything used at the hospital, and not to mention he was bothering the patients with his clumsiness. Who would trust someone with their health when they couldn’t keep a hold of a pen? He certainly wouldn’t.

Lance just didn’t seem to understand that. He thought it was absolutely hilarious, and made it his personal mission to mess up Keith’s day as much as he could. Not only did he never stop talking, but he touched Keith _more,_ and called out Keith’s name _more,_ and he wanted Keith to pay _more_ attention to him. He was insatiable, and completely, unignorably irritating. 

 

“You seem a little tense today, Keith,” Shiro said as he slid into the seat across from Keith at the cafeteria table.

“Oi, oi, I know I’m invisible and all,” Lance yelped as he jumped upright, “but do you really have to sit on me? Keith, tell your buff friend to take a hike and pick another seat!”

“Keith?”

He startled. “What was that?”

Shiro let out a sheepish laugh. “You were glaring pretty deep holes into my face just then,” he said. “Tough day? Something go wrong in the ward?”

“You could say that,” he muttered. 

“Is it a… you know…?”

“Is he talking about me?” Lance asked, peering closer at Shiro. “Where did he get the scar on his nose, Keith? Looks so badass. You ever tap that?”

Keith chocked on the mouthful of rice he’d eaten. This was not how he wanted to spend his lunchbreak. “It is,” he said.

“Aw, you’re so talking about me!” Lance said. “Introduce us, Keith. I want a piece of this fine specimen. Have you seen these biceps? Damn.”

The plastic fork in his hand snapped in half. “Will you shut up?” Keith hissed.

“Keith, you look a little tense, man,” Lance said, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“Uh…” Shiro murmured. His eyes darted to the side, and he looked a little uneasy. Lance had placed a hand on his shoulder. Keith wondered if Shiro could feel the chill of his touch. It didn’t seem like he did, at least not in the same way that Keith felt it. That only made the situation all the more infuriating.

Keith let out an aggravated sigh. “I knew hospitals would be full of them, but this is more than I expected,” Keith said. 

“Is it because I’m so handsome?”

“He’s so _annoying.”_

“Admit it, I’m quite the charmer!”

“And he never shuts up! Never! How can one person talk so much?”

“I’m great at conversations! You’re totally in love with me, aren’t you?”

“I’ve never met anyone so irritating,” he finished, calmly setting the broken pieces of his fork down. It didn’t look like he’d get much time to eat, anyway. Somehow, having nothing in his hands made him feel a little better. He’d dropped far more than enough things for one day.

Shiro laughed quietly. He rifled around in the bag he’d brought over and produced a second fork, which he handed to Keith. “I see,” he said. “Can’t you do what you normally do?”

What he normally did was ignore them until they forgot he could see them, but that clearly wasn’t going to be the case with Lance. When he ignored Lance, Lance only became more irritating. He was the biggest attention seeking brat Keith had ever met. “Not possible.”

Shiro let out a quiet hum. For a while, they ate in silence. Keith wondered where Hunk and Pidge were, because they usually joined them, but he didn’t let his mind linger on it for too long. They were probably just busy in their wards, which wasn’t so strange to believe. Keith had been late to lunch himself; he was too busy trying to make up for all the time he’d messed up in his duties. Which, of course, was completely Lance’s fault.

“You’re not struggling with the work, though?” Shiro eventually asked. “Getting along with the doctors alright?”

“Yeah,” Keith answered. “You don’t need to worry so much, Shiro. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Sorry,” Shiro said. “Can’t help it. I still think of you as that little kid who couldn’t do anything without me. You used to follow me around so much, you know.”

Keith did know. He remembered the summers he spent at Shiro’s house while his parents worked. Back then, he’d absolutely idolised Shiro. He’d thought of Shiro as this big, strong hero who could do anything he wanted whenever he wanted, like there were no consequences for him and nothing ever bad could happen to him. For a long time, even when Keith grew up, he kind of still believed that. It was hard not to when Shiro looked the part of a handsome hero. Of course, then the accident had happened, and Shiro had lost his arm.

It made Keith realise that he wasn’t so indestructible after all. That concept had been foreign and alarming, but nothing was more alarming than the sight of Shiro laying in a hospital bed, completely missing an arm. It was almost as though Keith had lost a part of himself, and he’d felt off balanced for a while afterwards. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been for Shiro. And to make matters worse, Shiro had never once complained. Sometimes Keith wished he’d cried and shouted and been generally miserable, but Shiro had taken it in his stride, and it had hardly ever seemed to bother him.

Keith knew it did – how could it not? – but he knew Shiro didn’t like to appear vulnerable. He never brought it up. No one did.

But, obviously, Lance did. “How did this even happen?” He asked, shocked. “The metal is so cold. Why isn’t it skin coloured? It seems so realistic that I hardly even noticed.”

Keith just scowled. Didn’t this boy have any manners? Clearly not. 

“Is the… Is he right here, or something?” Shiro asked. “You seem really distracted.”

“He doesn’t leave me alone,” Keith said. “He follows me into the bathroom.”

Shiro cringed. “Ah. Anyway I can help?”

Keith shook his head.

“Well, I hope you figure it out soon, Keith. You can always come to me if you ever need anything.”

“I know.”

What he needed was a way to get rid of Lance. Even after Shiro had left, Lance remained. Keith had almost expected him to wander after Shiro with a barrage of cheap pickup lines at the ready. It’s what he did anytime anyone remotely attractive wandered past, no matter their gender. And, infuriatingly, he always found his way back to Keith. Half the time, his sudden reappearances were what startled Keith the most. 

At least Shiro was willing to help, even if he couldn’t do much. Maybe he could look up exorcisms, or something. Would that work on a ghost like Lance? Keith was willing to try anything if it could possible help his horrid situation. He really wanted to take his job was seriously as he took pilot training, after all. 

But Keith knew that realistically, there was only one way to get rid of Lance permanently – the same way he always got rid of ghosts he couldn’t ignore. He’d find out what Lance wanted, what instinct led him to remaining in the hospital like he was, and he’d resolve it. It seemed so simple when he thought about it like that, but he knew it wasn’t. Any ghost as attached and real as Lance seemed to be couldn’t be bound by anything flimsy or passing. Something deep rooted and undeniably troubling must be bothering Lance.

Either way, Keith had to figure out what it was. His sanity couldn’t take another year of Lance and his endless chatting, half of which wasn’t even in a language he could understand in the first place. It wasn’t like Lance was the first difficult ghost he had come across, either – certainly the chattiest, but not the most problematic. For what it was worth, Lance didn’t seem very violent or harmful at all. Keith seriously doubted he was a vengeful spirit. He probably had a regret keeping him tied to the realm of the living, or a desire to see a loved one. He seemed like the type who would be bound by something like that.

When Keith was younger, he remembered coming across a ghost that he had found incredibly difficult to help. It was the ghost of an old man, who had died naturally of old age. Keith was sure he had lived down the road in the house with all the beautiful flowers. It took a long time to figure out what his attachment was, but he was a sweet old man, so Keith had tried his hardest. He had no regrets, and no unfinished business. He’d spent a lot of time with his family in his last few days, and had no lingering words to say to them.

In the end, he’d only wanted Keith to promise to take care of his garden. Keith still doesn’t know why he continues to think of the old man as a difficult spirit, but at the time he really was.

Finally, at the end of the day, Keith couldn’t take Lance’s pestering anymore. Angry, he confronted Lance in an empty consultation room, with the privacy curtains drawn closed for extra measure. “What is it you want from me?” He demanded. “Every one of your kind _wants_ something, so tell me and disappear already! What is it, huh?”

“My kind?” Lance repeated, puzzled. He looked genuinely confused by Keith’s anger, and it only made him more irritated. What special kind of idiot was this guy? “I don’t want anything.”

Keith was going to get a twitch in his eye at this rate. “You all do,” he snapped, throwing out an arm. He stalked towards Lance, even though he couldn’t touch him. Oddly enough, Lance backed away. “You all do. You want something from me, just like the others, and you won’t leave until you get it. It’s so _selfish-_ ugh! Just tell me what it is, and no more games.”

Lance flattened his hands against the wall Keith had backed him into. “I-I… guess I just want a friend.”


	4. The Ghost Who Can't See Ghosts

“What- what the hell,” Keith said, pushing away from Lance. He’d never felt more incredulous. “A _friend?_ What kind of wish is that? Stop jerking me around.”

Lance gave him a thoroughly puzzled look. The way he tilted his head seemed so lively that it completely put Keith off. “You’re not making any sense there, mullet-boy,” he said, voice cheerful. He was wearing that infuriating grin of his again, the one that sent shivers down Keith’s spine. 

Keith didn’t think he’d ever seen a grin like that on a living person. How could Lance act so freely and smile so brightly when he was clearly quite dead? It didn’t make sense, not to mention that Lance didn’t seem to be aware that he had, in fact, died. Maybe Keith should look into the hospital records. If Lance was stuck here, then it was very likely that he’d died here at some point, too. He had no doubt that Pidge would be able to hack into the records for him if he couldn’t manage to do it on his own, anyway. 

“If you’re just going to be a pain, then leave me alone,” Keith said, turning away. “Stop interfering with my work.”

“Don’t be such a sourpuss,” Lance said, pushing away from the wall to follow after him, an eager look on his face. “Don’t you want to chat some more? There’s no way you can be so bitter and angry _all_ the time.”

Keith frowned. He was becoming more and more irritated with Lance, but he just couldn’t be _angry_ with him. He didn’t know why, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t get angry at other people or even other ghosts. In fact, he got angry with others quite frequently, even if they did happen to be dead. He blamed Lance for his sudden irritableness, because every time he started to get worked up, he couldn’t help but pity him. He wanted a _friend._ He didn’t even know he was dead, for goodness’s sake. 

“Keith,” Lance whined, “you’re not seriously mad, are you? Does that make us rivals now?”

“I’m not afraid to hit you.”

“On the mouth?”

“What?”

“With _your_ mouth?”

“What the hell, Lance.”

 

For most of the next week, Keith was used as a messenger between the stations in the Red and Black Wards. The Black ward was were major surgeries and transfusions primarily happened, but just like the Red Ward, there was a lot of filing and receptionist work to be done. He ran stacks of paperwork back and forth, shot out countless emails to other hospitals and medical facilities around the country, and even did stock take in between surgeries for the surgeons. He hadn’t expected the work to be so physically demanding, though he wasn’t bothered by it.

Simply put, he was quite busy. Far too busy to pander to the wants of a needy, insistent ghost like Lance. The only times Keith ever really got to have a moment to sit were during his lunch breaks, and even then Lance was following after him. It had only taken a small handful of days for Shiro to get used to Lance’s presence – or rather, the fact that Keith couldn’t ignore his presence – before he just didn’t mention it again. 

Explaining Keith’s broodiness to Hunk and Pidge was a bit more of a challenge. They didn’t know he could see spirits, and Keith didn’t particularly want them to ever find out. When they had lunch and Keith muttered under his breath or glared across the table at thin air, it was weird. There was no other way of putting it. Half the time, Keith wondered if they thought he should be admitted to the hospital, rather than working in it. Of course, Hunk was worried enough to eventually bring it up.

“Hey Keith, are you alright?” He asked, peering at Keith with a concerned pucker in his brow as he followed Keith out of the cafeteria. “You’ve been acting a bit weird lately.”

Keith gave him an unimpressed, but it wasn’t a cold one. “I’m fine,” he said. “Why?”

Hunk just shrugged a shoulder. “You just seem a bit… spacey.”

Lance snorted. “Is that a space pun?” He asked, letting out a bout of amused laughter. “Because you work for the Galaxy Garrison? Oh man, I’m going to love this guy. Spacey.”

“Right…” Keith muttered. He wasn’t quite sure who he was talking to anymore. “I’m fine, just settling into the new job and all. There’s a lot of- _people_ around here.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Hunk said, laughing quietly. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a sigh. “You’ve got pretty active wards too, right? You can always ask Shiro to swap with one of mine if you want, I know there’s not much running around in the Blue Ward.”

Keith shook his head. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “The Wards will rotate eventually anyway. The problem is easy enough to ignore.”

“Are you talking about me?” Lance pouted. He followed after Keith, his eyes wide and blue. “You totally are. Why are you trying to ignore me? You’re the only person I can talk to, you know. No one else can see me. It kind of sucks.”

And there he went, making Keith feel pitiful again. There was always something more mournful about seeing younger ghosts, especially if they didn’t realise they were dead, like Lance didn’t. If Keith really thought about it – which he didn’t want to – then he knew he must have been the same age as Lance. And sure, even if Lance had died the same way an adult had, it was different because of his age. A car accident, a disease, a murder… It was all made more tragic when a person’s age was a small number. 

“Well, I’m here if you need to talk,” Hunk said. He was watching Keith again, and his inquisitive, gentle gaze almost made Keith feel like telling him that he had a touchy, Spanish ghost eyeing him up like he was some sort of all-you-can-eat buffet. He didn’t, of course, because having Hunk think he really was crazy was probably not for the best. He actually _liked_ talking to Hunk, believe it or not.

Still, deceiving him didn’t quite feel right. It wasn’t like Keith was actively lying to Hunk, and he did the same thing to every other person he knew except for Shiro, but it still didn’t feel good. Hunk was a good guy, after all, and was probably the nicest person Keith knew. Sure, he didn’t know many people, but Hunk had still stuck with him ever since they were assigned to the same squad. Most other people requested a transfer within a month, and Keith didn’t particularly blame them. He had a pretty shit personality most of the time. 

“Dude, are all your friends attractive?” Lance asked. He had a hand pressed to his hip as he watched Hunk leave back down the corridor towards the Yellow Ward. “What’s his name, again?”

“It’s Hunk,” Keith answered without thinking.

Lance grinned.

“Not a word, Lance.”

“Glad to see you’re not really ignoring me!” Lance said. “Still, that name sounds kind of familiar… Guess it suits a guy like him! Where we off to next then, mullet-boy?”

“Don’t you have somewhere better to be?” Keith said, turning away from him. Ignoring Lance was going to be difficult if he kept rising to bait like that. “Stop bothering me already.”

“Ah, playing hard to get, are we? Don’t worry, _niño bonito,_ I will follow you wherever you go.”

“Oh boy.”

 

As much as Keith hated to admit it, Lance really wasn’t as problematic as other ghosts could be, or had been. He didn’t actively cause Keith too much grief, and didn’t seem vengeful. In fact, other than being furiously irritating, he felt like any other living person from the Galaxy Garrison. He just liked to follow Keith around and talk his ears off and try his best to get Keith in trouble.

Better than trying to take his head off, at least. 

Still, Lance’s strange attitude certainly gave him quite a bit to think about. At times Keith was very tempted to Google something like _friendly ghost,_ but he didn’t need any more cartoon characters on his computer. He’d never kept track of the ghosts he helped, either, so he couldn’t really remember if there had been one like Lance before. In either case, there were things that bothered him about Lance, aside from his inherently annoying personality.

Like the fact that he couldn’t see other ghosts. From what Keith had seen, all ghosts were at least, on some level, quite aware of one another. Sure, they didn’t always get along, and they sometimes acted like opposing magnets that pushed one another away, but instinctively they were all on the same field. One ghost didn’t exist in another realm away from other ghosts, they just didn’t work like that. So why couldn’t Lance see the others? It wasn’t like there was a shortage of them at the hospital. Even when other ghosts hadn’t interacted with their fellow dead people, they still _reacted_ to them, even if they themselves didn’t notice.

The fact that Lance didn’t was odd. There was also the fact that he didn’t realise he was dead, but that wasn’t entirely unheard of. Lots of ghosts didn’t realise they were dead – they just didn’t think they were invisible, either. They were kind of stuck in the mindset they died in, until they met someone like Keith who startled them into realisation. Maybe Lance was too stupid for that. Maybe he just needed a big sign that said _congratulations, you’re dead! Better luck next time?_

_Maybe that’s a little insensitive, Keith._

Still, Lance was beginning to occupy more of his free time than Keith would have liked. For what it was worth, aside from the fact that he couldn’t see others and didn’t realise he was dead, he was pretty much like all the other ghosts Keith had met. He had that transparent edge to him, and was soundless when he walked. Physical barriers didn’t seem like much of a problem to him, and normal humans couldn’t see him. He seemed to be pretty stuck in the same place he’d died, too – the hospital. Maybe it would be worth looking into, after all, if it meant he could finish his clerkship in relative peace.

But of course, Lance had to be _different._

“You know, I want to know why I’m invisible,” Lance said to him one evening. Keith was busy taking his coat off, ready to be stuffed back into the shiny new lockers the recruits had been given. Lance was sitting on a nearby desk, kicking his legs back and forth. “You seem to know a lot about this sort of stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?” Keith asked after glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was around. “Maybe you’re just dead, or something.”

Lance snorted. “Yeah, sure. Totally. I’m fairly certain this is just some awful dream I can’t wake up from, actually. I already tried pinching myself and everything. Can’t feel a thing.”

Keith still couldn’t believe Lance really didn’t know he’d died. Usually ghosts realised that by now, especially if Keith talked to them. Was Lance really different, or just really stupid? “Then why am I here?”

“Uh, because every great movie needs an attractive love interest for the handsome hero?”

Keith gave him a dry look.

Lance just grinned. “Ah, that’s a face I could fall in love with. Keep up the great work, nameless-love-interest.”

Keith shut his locker. “Whatever, I’m going home now.”

“See you tomorrow then, _niño bonito._ Don’t forget to put on your prettiest smile!”

“Where do you even go?” Keith asked, frowning. He pulled his jacket on, and scooped up his keys. “You’re stuck here after I go home.”

Lance put a finger to his lips. “Secret.”


	5. The Dreams Of A Dead Man

_There was a boy in his bedroom. Although the curtains were drawn shut and his overhead light had long since been turned off, Keith could see the boy perfectly well, as though it were the middle of the brightest day of the year. He had dark skin and bright blue eyes and a mischievous grin so infuriating that Keith didn’t know what to do with himself when he looked at it. The boy felt familiar to him, but his name or any part of his identity seemed to slip out from Keith’s grasp before he could grab a hold of it._

_“What are you doing here?” Keith asked. His mouth moved but he could hardly feel it, and his voice sounded distant. The haziness of the room was bewildering._

_The boy only grinned._

_Keith closed his eyes. The darkness behind them was a relief. A feeling of familiarity washed over him, like it often had in the past. He’d been here before, hadn’t he? He’d done this before. Not only with the blue-eyed boy, but with the others – different people, people he could no longer remember, that he hadn’t ever been able to remember. There had been more in the past. He’d be sure there would be more in the future, too._

_But this boy was different. Keith didn’t know how, but he was. He felt different. When Keith opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the safe confines of his room. It was dark where he found himself; outside, on a street he didn’t recognise. Wind rustled through the leaves on the trees across the street but he couldn’t feel it on his skin. Couldn’t hear it either, for that matter. There wasn’t any sound – until, suddenly, there was._

_Something small and shaking was slumped in the middle of the road between Keith and the trees. Keith’s body instinctively lurched towards it, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen, cemented in place. The thing was yowling and mewling pitifully, its eyes barely open, too weak to stand on its own legs, and yet Keith couldn’t do a thing to help it. He’d never come across anything so pathetic. He wasn’t particularly fond of cats, but it was so small, and so helpless. Why was it out in the middle of the road?_

_At the end of the road, a truck appeared. In the stark blandness of the scenery and the smallness of the cat, the truck seemed intrusive and pervading. It was huge. He hadn’t seen it turn the corner, and like the wind it made no sound, but smoke rose from its exhaust and it rumbled with energy. How could it have suddenly appeared? For a moment, a horrid thought whispered through his mind – if the truck were to move, then surely the kitten would be crushed._

_And then it did._

 

Keith woke with a pained gasp on his lips. He was covered in sweat, and had his fingers clenched so hard into his bedsheets that his hands were cramping. For a moment, he felt like he was being crushed under something so heavy that he would never be able to move it, but the only thing covering him was his blanket. Robotically, he kicked it off, and forced himself upright. 

Sweat dripped down his neck. Irritably, he lifted the back of his shirt to wipe it away. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, and hear blood thumping between his ears. He’d get a headache from it, no doubt. Even when he pressed a hand to his chest, his panic didn’t alleviate. 

Blindly, he reached for his phone. The number he rang had been dialled so many times that he didn’t even need to look at the screen to find it. He held the phone to his ear as he dragged his fingers through his damp, tangled hair.

A sleep-ridden voice answered. “Keith?”

“Shiro,” he said, exhaling. “It’s happening again.”

 

The next day at work, as Keith was pulling on his coat for the day, Lance appeared. He was as mischievous and teasing as ever, and after the rough night Keith had had, he was far too tired to deal with it. 

“You seem tired,” Lance said. “Up all night dreaming about me, _niño bonito?”_

Keith frowned. He was up all night dreaming about someone, sure. He just didn’t know who. When he had dreams like that, dreams that didn’t feel like his own… He’d never been able to remember who was in it. Some instinctual part of him told him that those dreams certainly couldn’t be his own, but he’d never been able to figure out how the dreams themselves worked. 

They didn’t mean anything good, though. Like ghosts, the dreams were fickle and unexplainable. He only started to get them when a particularly nasty spirit was around, one that took notice of him. It had happened before in the past – he’d had dreams from bad ghosts forced onto him, and he’d never been able to make sense of them. They were disorientating and disturbing and full of symbolism that he couldn’t understand. 

“Keith? Angel? Love of my life? You with me?”

“Cut it out, Lance,” Keith sighed as he shut his locker. 

Lance grinned at him, looking unperturbed. “Are you struck dumb by my charming good looks? Why, Keith, I’m flattered.”

“You’re the biggest irritation of my day.”

“Pardon?”

Keith jumped, his face going red as he turned around to face the doctor standing in the entryway. “Sorry, was talking to myself,” he muttered.

Doctor Alfor hummed, and gave him a small, hesitant smile. Keith had been working with him for a while now, so surely he must have noticed Keith’s odd behaviour. If he did, he ignored it, for the most part. “Alright, if you say so,” he said, not unkindly. “Shall we go? There are a lot of patients scheduled today.”

“Right.”

Lance snickered. “Good job, _niño bonito.”_

Keith was so going to look that up during his lunch break.

 

According to Google and all of its subpar translators, it didn’t particularly mean anything. Each translator told him something slightly different. Keith was hesitant about his spelling, too. The more he looked into it, the more frustrated he became. He could just ask Lance what the hell he’d been calling Keith all this time – he was sure it was an insult – but that meant acknowledging him, dammit. 

“You alright?” Shiro asked, as he paused in eating his lunch. “You’re glaring pretty deep holes into your phone.”

Keith huffed. “You did Spanish in normal school, right? Before the Garrison?”

“I only did it for a year,” Shiro said, hesitant, “and only because it was compulsory. Why? Is this about that ghost, again?”

“Yes,” Keith said. “He keeps calling me _nino bonito,_ and I’ve got no damn idea what it means.”

“Did you try looking it up online?”

“Online gave me a dozen different answers.”

Shiro hummed, and placed down his fork in favour of folding his arms on the tabletop. “Why don’t you just ask him, then?” He suggested. “It doesn’t exactly sound correct… though it might be, I suppose. I’m afraid I don’t remember much of the language.”

Leaning back in his chair, Keith considered his options. He could just ask Lance, who was busy hovering around the pretty young cafeteria lady. Of course, Lance might not tell him, but Keith had a feeling that Lance would absolutely love the fact that Keith willingly asked him something. “Maybe I’ll just ask, then,” he sighed, glancing over at Lance once more. He really did look quite lively, and if someone reacted to him, then Keith would have no problems believing that Lance was alive and well.

As it was, he wasn’t. 

“Anyway, Keith,” Shiro started.

Keith winced, and turned back to face the table. He knew that tone well. It was the one Shiro used when he was worried, or when he was going to parent Keith. As Keith had grown older, Shiro had used it less, but he still sometimes fell back into that parental role when he was concerned. Sure, Keith’s parents hadn’t really been all that good and Shiro had filled in for them a hell of a lot, but Keith could take care of himself now. He didn’t _want_ Shiro to worry. He wanted Shiro to think he was mature enough and smart enough to be able to care for himself.

“You said it’s happening again,” Shiro said. “Can you remember anything about who might be in this one?”

Keith shook his head. He never could. The only thing he could recall this time was the cat and the truck, along with a whole myriad of unsettling and distressing feelings. 

“Can you make a guess?”

Again, Keith shook his head. “There are way too many spirits here for me to notice any singular one. The violent ones usually make themselves more known, but I haven’t sensed anything. I don’t know why it’s happening again.”

See, the thing with the dreams was that they never stopped at one. Considering how tame the first had been, Keith thought himself lucky. The longer the ghost projecting the dreams remained earthbound, the worse they would become. Keith almost killed himself trying to escape them when he was younger, and that was a road he really didn’t want to go back down. More than anyone, Shiro knew how bad the dreams could become. Keith could understand why he was worried, even if he wished Shiro wasn’t.

“I guess we just have to try and solve it,” Shiro said, voice quiet. “I really wish I could help more.”

Keith frowned. “It’s not your fault.”

Shiro didn’t answer.

After he finished lunch, much of which he left untouched, Keith started the walk back to the Red Ward. Predictably, he was joined by Lance soon after, who appeared without warning by his side. 

“Man, no one told me being invisible meant I couldn’t eat,” he complained, linking his fingers before resting them on the back of his head as he walked. “Your food looks so good, _niño bonito.”_

“What does that mean?”

Lance gave him a curious look.

“I looked it up, but didn’t find a good translation,” Keith said. He glanced down the hallway before slipping down an unused corridor, even though it was the long way back to his ward, for more privacy. “Tell me what it means.”

Lance grinned. “It means ‘pretty boy’,” he said cheerfully. 

Keith frowned. “No it doesn’t,” he said, “does it? Isn’t there a better way to say that?”

“Of course!” Lance laughed. “It’s an inside joke, you know.”

“What?”

“I have a friend who wanted to learn Spanish,” Lance explained, smiling. “I kept calling him handsome, and it made him flustered. He called me _niño bonito_ because some shitty translator had told him that was the same as the English equivalent. Funny, right? It kinda stuck.”

Keith stared at him. “Oh,” he said. An inside joke, then. “Who’s your friend?”

Lance paused, and lowered his arms. Keith stopped walking, too. A strange look had come to Lance’s face, but as Keith’s pager beeped, he glanced away.

“I have to go this way,” he said, moving off down a different corridor. “Pidge wants me to pick something up for Doctor Alfor.”

“I can’t remember,” Lance suddenly said. He’d followed Keith down the corridor, but stopped again.

“What?”

“My friend- my best friend,” Lance said. He lifted a hand to touch his face. “I can’t remember him.”

Keith hesitated. This didn’t feel like the right way for Lance to find out he was dead. “Come on, let’s go,” he said.

Lance stepped forwards, but abruptly froze. For a split second his eyes went frightfully wide, and then like a burst of static, he disappeared.

“Lance?” Keith said, alarmed. Something cold washed over him, and when he turned his head, his eyes went straight to the sign above the corridor entrance.

It was the entrance to the Blue Ward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned to update this yesterday, but I came across a post on tumblr suggesting that one shouldn't use "niño bonito" as a substitute for "pretty boy" and I thought it might affect this fic, so I got a little discouraged ^^" I don't know Spanish, or anyone who knows Spanish, so I try and get it as correct as a can but I know I must get a lot of it wrong. It's not a language that was ever taught at my school - it wasn't even an option, so I really have no knowledge on it at all. Still, I really like the idea of Lance being Spanish, so I wanted to include it. I really do appreciate all the kind people who correct it for me ❤ 
> 
> This is a day later than expected because I wanted to think of a way to fix the problem without changing anything. "Niño bonito" sounds really cute after all~ I hope it's still okay to use!


	6. The Third Squad Member

For a moment, Keith forgot what the Blue Ward housed, but with a start he remembered. It was predominantly the home of the long-term patients, and it housed the comatose ward. The rooms and treatment facilities of incurably sick patients and inpatients all fell under the jurisdiction of the Blue Ward. That meant patients with cancer and other long-term ailments that needed insistent treatment or indefinite inpatients were housed there. 

It wasn’t hard to imagine that many died there, too. Long-term inpatients had very serious ailments, after all, and Keith wasn’t enough of a wishful thinker to believe that they all left the ward eventually. 

Cautiously, he surveyed the hallway. It felt incredibly empty in a way that no other part of the hospital had ever felt. There were no people, or even any presences. “Lance?” He asked, though there was no reply. When he edged further down the corridor, a pervading feeling of _wrongness_ overcame him. He’d felt like something or someone was watching him, like he’d entered a new space that should have had huge, glaring warning signs plastered all over it, but didn’t. 

He’d take the long way round to the Green Ward.

 

Halfway through the afternoon, Lance reappeared. Keith was doing paperwork and filing away the client forms when Lance suddenly appeared on the table beside him, looking as fresh faced and bright eyed as ever.

“Keith, _niño bonito!”_ Lance exclaimed, grinning. “Glad to see you again! Did you miss me?”

Keith gave him an unimpressed look.

Lance’s grin only broadened. “Of course you did.”

“What even happened to you back there?” Keith asked, setting aside his paperwork. The office was empty for now so he could talk to Lance freely, but he didn’t know how long that would last. Clerks tended to wander in and out unannounced all throughout the day.

“Back where?” 

“At the Blue Ward entrance.”

“Blue Ward?”

Keith had never seen someone look so mystified. It was genuine confusion on Lance’s face, and somehow that just made him more irritated. “Towards the inpatient facilities,” Keith said. “After lunch, you tried to follow me there.”

Lance hummed, and swung his feet back and forth. “Don’t really remember that,” he said. “This place is like a maze, anyway. It’s just easier to follow you around all day.”

Keith leaned a hip against the edge of the table and gave Lance a critical look. From what he could tell, Lance seemed to be a pretty open book. His emotions were clear on his face, and he seemed to say whatever came to his mind, even if it happened to be quite stupid. “You know where this is, right?”

Lance gave him another confused look.

“This is a hospital,” Keith informed him. “I don’t wear this white coat for nothing, you know.”

“I thought it was because it made your shoulders look damn fine.”

“Really? Wait, no- that’s not the point, and that’s not why I wear it,” Keith said, frowning and flustered. Lance’s sudden smug expression only made him more irritated. “I’m here for a clerkship.”

Lance hummed again. “Well, I figured this was a hospital, but I never thought about it much,” he said, shrugging. “Is it important? It’s just a place. A confusing place.”

 _Was_ it important? Keith paused for a moment. Ghosts usually lingered around the places they died, so in that matter the place they showed up at was definitely important. Other times ghosts would travel to places they spent a lot of time at, or a place where something important to them was. At a hospital, the reason a ghost was stuck was pretty clear – it was where they died. Keith didn’t need to know anything more about the location than that. Really, he should have been thankful that that aspect of Lance’s current state was so predictable; nothing else seemed to be.

“I guess not,” he said. “But the Blue Ward matters. You couldn’t go in there.” _And neither could I._

Lance only shrugged again.

Maybe it was a topic for later, then. Keith didn’t think Lance could particularly handle thinking about things the living did – like _why_ he was in the hospital, and _why_ he was still hanging around, and _why_ he couldn’t enter the Blue Ward. “Why” was a question only people who were alive seemed to ask.

“Still…” Keith started, standing up straighter, “you have to-”

“Keith?”

He jumped at the sound of Hunk’s voice, bracing himself against the table and scattering all the paperwork he’d painstakingly been organising. 

“Ah, sorry,” Hunk said as he crouched to help Keith pick up the strewn papers, “I didn’t mean to startle you. Who were you talking to just then?”

“Oh, it’s the hunk named Hunk,” Lance cheered, leaning closer. “He’s got a really handsome smile, doesn’t he?”

“Myself,” Keith muttered.

Hunk gave him a puzzled look. “Didn’t sound like it,” he said. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Keith cringed. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Alright,” Hunk replied, though he was frowning, and he didn’t quite look like he believed Keith. “You know you can talk to me if something’s bothering you, right? I know we haven’t been squad mates for long, but…”

“I know,” Keith murmured. He really did. Hunk was the nicest person he’d ever met, and had never once treated Keith coldly, or as though he were being invasive. 

They hadn’t always been squad mates. When a person entered the Galaxy Garrison, they were assigned to a group of three that generally remained together for all training exercises and drills throughout the entirety of their education. For most of his junior years, Keith had been with a different set of people. Sure, he was in the same class as Hunk and Pidge, but he hadn’t known their names, and hadn’t particularly remembered their faces. He hadn’t needed to. He’d only needed to remember his squad mates, even if they didn’t quite get along.

And then Keith had been expelled. His previous squad members were reassigned the moment he left the Garrison’s grounds, and for a while he’d been out of work and out of school. Then Shiro had begged for him to be welcomed back, and he evidently was – there just hadn’t been a squad available, until Hunk and Pidge were suddenly left without a third member.

Come to think of it, Keith didn’t know where their third member went. He couldn’t recall their face, or their name. Maybe if he asked, Hunk would tell him, but he’d never thought to mention it. He’d always just assumed it was a sore topic, what with the cold way Pidge had treated him for the first solid month they were stuck together. It had taken Pidge a while to warm to him, but they were okay now. At least, Keith thought they were. Pidge was hard to understand, sometimes. 

“Anyway,” Keith shook his head, and cast a sideways glance at Lance, who only grinned. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m here to pick up the paperwork Pidge sent over earlier this afternoon,” Hunk said. He straightened, and handed Keith the stack of files in his arms. “I’m basically the pack mule for the Blue and Yellow Wards today.”

Keith forced a humourless laugh and hoped it didn’t seem more like a grimace. “Yeah, I know how that feels.”

Hunk shrugged. “It could be worse,” he said. “I got to see the premature babies this morning, in the far end of the Blue Ward. They stay there for months, you know. One has been living in the hospital for an entire year.”

“Really?”

Hunk nodded. “The babies are unexpectedly small,” he said. “I feel like I can hold their entire body in just one of my hands. Probably could. It really puts things into perspective.”

“Things…?” Keith repeated.

“Just… everything, I guess,” Hunk said. “You want to be a fighter pilot, right? Don’t you ever wonder if you’ll die out on a mission, or end up here like the patients?”

Keith had wondered about that, actually. Death and the afterlife seemed to be quite the popular topic in his mind, and he almost wanted to tell Hunk that, but he didn’t, and instead quietly considered his question. “I think it’s very likely that I will die out in the field,” Keith finally said. “It would be stupid for me to not expect that, and if I don’t think about it, then I’ll be more scared of it than I would if I did. I… I don’t think I’m afraid of death, not when I know what happens after it.”

“You know what happens?” Hunk asked.

Keith shrugged. “I have a fairly good hunch.”

Hunk gave Keith a look for a moment, before letting out a small, amused laugh. “I guess a guy like you would think like that, huh? That rough but precise sort of piloting suits you.”

“A guy like me?”

“I don’t know, a serious guy,” Hunk said. “You’re hard to read sometimes, you know, but I think you’ve got a pretty good head on your shoulders.”

“I hope so, considering what I fly.”

Hunk laughed again. “I’m glad we’re a team,” he admitted. It sounded like a confession that had weighed heavily on his shoulders, for some reason. “I was worried about who would fill… Who would be our new third member, but I’m kind of glad it was you. I must confess, I was a bit concerned when I saw your name on the roster.”

“Concerned?” Keith’s eyebrows went up. “Why?”

“Well, everyone knows about the infamous Keith Kogane,” Hunk said. “You were pretty well known for being difficult to fly with in simulations, you know. People found you difficult to get along with, and it didn’t help that you fought with the instructors so much.”

Keith flushed. He had been a pretty forward trainee, he knew. His complete inability to follow directions and hold his tongue had been what got him expelled in the first place. “I guess,” he reluctantly agreed. “Am I still like that?”

Hunk shook his head. “Nah, we’re cool. Like I said, I’m glad we’re a team. I think I get along with most people just fine, but Pidge is different. You guys get along alright, don’t you?”

Keith nodded. “I think…”

“Yeah, I guess Pidge is pretty difficult to read too, huh?” He laughed. “Anyway, I should be getting back to Blue, they really want that paperwork.”

Keith handed it over, and watched as Hunk disappeared back out the door. He’d almost forgotten Lance was in the room at all, until he spoke. Keith made sure to shut the office door.

“What happened to the last guy?”

“What?”

Lance jerked a shoulder in the direction of the door. “Hunk’s old teammate, or whatever,” he said. “The guy you replaced. What happened to him?”

“I don’t really know,” Keith said after a tense pause. “Hunk doesn’t talk about it.”

“And the other guy?” Lance asked. “Pidgeon? Does he talk about it?”

“It’s Pidge,” Keith said, “and no. Pidge seems more cut up about having a new squad mate than Hunk does. I don’t want to push him.”

Lance hummed.

Keith frowned. “What?”

“You’re actually a pretty nice guy!” 

“Thanks,” Keith muttered dryly. “Glad to know I meet your approval.”

“Babe, your looks alone meet my approval,” Lance grinned. “Even if you have a mullet.”

“I _do not_ have a mullet, Lance.”

Lance laughed. He had a really nice laugh, Keith thought, though he’d never, ever admit it out loud. “Isn’t it almost time for you to go home?” Lance asked. “Since you’ve been here, it’s been way easier to tell the time. The clocks actually cooperate with me, now.”

Keith frowned. “What?”

“Well, is it?”

“Almost,” Keith said, sighing. Getting Lance to stay on topic was like getting a child to; impossible. “Going to tell me where you go, now?”

Lance grinned, and hopped down off of the table. “Since you’re a surprisingly nice person, how about I show you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday, but I was too tired to finish writing it ^^" Sorry for the delay!
> 
> [my tumblr](http://milkteamiku.tumblr.com/)   
>  [my twitter](https://twitter.com/fairydens)
> 
> For future reference ^^ I do take prompts for this fandom, if you ever want to send one my way!


	7. The Nightmares A Ghost Can Give

“Lance, I’m not sure if…”

“Come on, Keith, don’t be a chicken.”

Keith scowled. “I’m not _scared.”_

“Your words, not mine.”

He was wearing that infuriating grin again. Keith was starting to think that all of Lance’s grins could be described as infuriating, because they just were. He’d never seen a ghost ever look quite so happy, and it was completely unnerving. It wasn’t like Lance had a creepy smile or anything – really, it was a nice smile, as far as smiles went – but just knowing that he was dead was putting Keith off. Lance didn’t even know he was dead. It just felt wrong.

Lance was leading him through the hospital like he owned it. He'd mentioned before that the corridors were confusing, so how did he suddenly become so confident in his steps? It wasn't like Keith distrusted him or anything, but all his past experiences with ghosts hadn't exactly led him to believe they could take him places and he'd be fine. And sure, Lance didn't seem like the type to try and possess or kill him, but one could never know with ghosts. 

“Where are we going?” Keith asked. He tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice, but he didn’t think he managed all too well. The further Lance led him, the more ghosts Keith started to notice. They were like fixtures on the walls, still and mostly motionless. He made sure not to let his eyes linger on them, but he felt watched, as though they knew he could see them. He wasn’t quite sure what ward he was in – towards the Green Ward, he assumed – so he had no idea how all those people had died, but it was utterly discomforting. He didn’t want to be around them.

“I told you before,” Lance said, “it’s a secret! It’s a place no one really ever goes to, except me.”

He knew Lance couldn’t see the other ghosts, but the fact that so many were around was starting to make Keith feel uncomfortable. He’d long since learned to ignore them, but their presence still made his skin prickle. The air felt unnaturally cold. “Maybe I should come another day,” he said.

“What? Why?”

Keith tugged his hand back. He wasn’t sure when Lance had reached for it, or when Lance’s fingers had coiled around his wrist like a bracelet, but there they were. Ghosts weren’t meant to be able to interact with living people or objects, and yet the more he stared at the place they were connected the more he was convinced he could feel Lance’s grip. Even if his hand came back with no resistance on Lance’s behalf, the wispy coldness against his skin didn’t fade, not even when he rubbed it. “I should go,” Keith said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

Lance was giving him a puzzled look. “Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll come find you tomorrow, and then we can go to my secret place.”

“Yeah, sure.”

 

_When Keith opened his eyes, he found himself in a strange, unfamiliar place. In his hands he cradled a motionless cat, the same one he’d seen before in a different dream. That place with the road and the truck felt like it had been in a time that no longer existed, and the more he came to his senses, the more confused he became by it all._

_There was a door in front of him. When he reached for the handle after carefully adjusting the cat in his hands, it opened without a sound. On the other side was a more familiar place, though there were differences to it that Keith was unacquainted with. The room itself, however, was unmistakable – it was a dormitory in the Galaxy Garrison. The bed, the desk and the cabinet were all the same, and the uniform hanging on a peg beside the door was unmistakable. He’d seen the same thing countless times in his own room, but this was not his room._

_A wooden photo frame was sitting on the desk closest to the left bed – three of them, actually. Keith hadn’t ever really displayed any of his photos, and had only taken one to the Garrison with his luggage. They weren’t his roommates, either, so he walked closer to try and see who was in them. The images, however, were nothing but blurs, and the more he tried to bring his eyes into focus, the worse it became. Despondent, he turned away from the frames._

_The door opened again. A blue-eyed boy walked in, though he didn’t look at Keith. He shut the door and pulled off his jacket, and methodically hung it up with the uniform, but there wasn’t enough space on the hook, and it fell to the floor. The boy only stared at it for a moment before leaving it. His shoulders looked tense and there were deep rings under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in a week._

_Keith wanted to say something. Words got clogged up in his throat, and even though he opened his mouth to speak, no sound came out. His body instinctively lurched forward, like he wanted to rest his hand on the boy’s elbow, but his feet were frozen to the ground. He couldn’t move._

_The boy walked forwards. His feet were sluggish, and he looked as though he wanted to be anything other than standing. He didn’t seem to notice Keith at all, but he did notice the little cat. In fact, he plucked it right out of Keith’s arms, his hands gripping it completely around its waist. The cat hardly stirred other than to let out a pitiful mewl._

_With a rather dejected look, the boy flopped down onto his bed. He held the cat above his head to regard it with glazed eyes, like he was inspecting it for something in particular that he didn’t end up finding. With a downhearted sigh he lowered it, letting it rest on his chest. There it looked smaller than ever, and weaker, too. The boy laid his arms down by his sides, his wrists limp, and stared at the ceiling. His eyes fluttered for a moment._

_A deep sadness had permeated the room. It felt sorely familiar, in a way that made Keith’s chest feel painfully tight. It was a specific kind of sadness, not one born of anger or distrust, but something even more intimate. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. He felt like someone had plucked one of his own fears, his own feelings straight from his mind and forced it upon him again when he was vulnerable._

_But there was something in the boy’s eyes that had Keith pausing, and whether that was willing or otherwise he didn’t know. But those blue eyes of his were roaming the ceiling, and like a moth to a flame Keith was drawn to follow them._

_At first, all he saw were plastic stars. They were stuck to the ceiling in no particular pattern or shape, and glowed only very dimly. But then, as he searched them for something strong enough to capture the attention of the blue-eyed boy, the stars and the ceiling began to fall away. In their place came the real sky, the real stars, and they glowed with a homely warmth that Keith had never seen in them before. At first he was comforted by them, because he somehow thought that the people he cared for were seeing them, too._

_But then they started to suffocate him. The sky became too wide, too big to encompass in his arms, and the warmth in the glow began to fade into nothing but cold distance. He felt swallowed by them, like they were pressing on him until he was nothing more than an unnoticeable, foreign speck among their midst._

_When he closed his eyes, he felt like crying._

 

Gasping, Keith reeled. His hands flailed for a moment as his body jerked awake. Sweat had made his face damp, and there was hair sticking to his forehead. Irritably, he pushed the strands aside. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, and the blood rushing through his ears was painfully loud. It took him a moment to get his breathing even again.

He’d had another dream, then. It couldn’t have been more than a week since the last one, could it? They never came that fast. The dreams were usually spread out over a couple months, becoming more and more frequent the more violent the ghost became, and the more prominent it made itself. He still didn’t have any idea about which ghost it was that was causing him to have these dreams.

He glanced at the clock. Predictably, it was the middle of the night. He doubted he would get any sleep for the remainder of the early morning, and he didn’t want to wake Shiro again (despite the fact that Shiro often insisted he should call anyway, regardless of the time of day) so he made his way to the bathroom instead.

Maybe a shower would help to cool him off.

 

The next day, Keith told Shiro about the dream. It was hard to hide the bags under his eyes, and the fact that he yawned every few minutes didn’t particularly help. He had only gotten a handful of hours of sleep, and they had been fitful at best. 

Shiro seemed concerned. “Can you remember anything?” He asked. He had Keith cornered in the main office where their lockers were, and wouldn’t let Keith go until Keith answered his questions.

Keith shook his head. “It’s the same as ever,” he said. “I just... I can’t remember anything. There are bits and pieces, but they don’t make sense. The dreams- they always end badly, I know that for sure. I felt like I couldn’t breathe when I woke up.”

Shiro frowned. “This one came quicker than I expected,” he murmured. “Maybe you should come stay at mine for a while, until you figure out which ghost it is. I don’t want you hurting yourself in your sleep.”

“I’ll be fine,” Keith mumbled. A part of him deep down wanted Shiro’s comfort, but it was a childish want, one he didn’t particularly wish to indulge. More than anything, he didn’t want to be a burden to Shiro. For so long Shiro had had to take care of him and clean up his messes. He didn’t deserve that treatment from Keith anymore.

“Just think about it, please,” Shiro said. He rested his flesh hand on Keith’s head, just like he used to when they were little. “It would make me feel a lot better if I knew you weren’t alone in this.”

Keith nodded. He’d think about it because Shiro asked him to, but he was still reluctant to take up Shiro’s offer. 

Lance appeared halfway through the morning. He seemed the same as usual, and still smiled freely. He followed Keith around the haematology ward and teased him about the amount of times he had to wash and disinfect his hands, even though Keith insisted that those were the rules. 

“You seem a little tired tonight,” Lance remarked as Keith entered an empty office. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Keith answered. “Are we going to your secret place today?”

“Sure! Whenever you’re ready.”

“During my lunch break, then.”

Lance peered at him closer. His eyes were rather blue today. “Are you having nightmares?”

Keith startled. “How did you know?”

“A hunch. What are they about?”

Keith hesitated, then shrugged. “Can’t remember.”

Lance hummed. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then grinned, and threw his arm around Keith’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you! That’s the role of the handsome hero, right?”

 _I can feel his arm._ It was there, resting across his shoulders. Lance’s fingers were curled around the curve of his shoulder, and although the touch was somewhat ghostly, he could still feel it. 

Oddly enough, Lance smelled like home.


	8. The Place Where Lance Can Hide

The morning wasn’t too chaotic for Keith. He did a lot of filing, and thankfully didn’t have to do any consultations with patients. He was mostly in the Red Ward, and found himself sitting alone in the filing rooms more often than not. Of course he still had Lance around, and he could talk to him pretty freely, but he was more focused on work than socialising. 

Until his lunch break came, that is. Despite his rumbling stomach, he didn’t make his way down to the cafeteria. It was hard to ignore the pleading, excited looks Lance was throwing him, especially when Lance wore a cattish grin for hours leading up to lunchtime. He seemed to have completely forgotten about Keith’s hesitance, which Keith supposed was for the best.

He sent Shiro a text message telling him that he wouldn’t be at lunch and why.

_Are you sure that’s for the best? I don’t really want you going off alone with a ghost._

_I know, but I already said I’d go._

_Do you have any idea where you’ll be?_

_None._

Shiro clearly wasn’t impressed, but he didn’t try to stop Keith. _I’ll come looking for you if you don’t check in with me by the end of your lunch break._

_Thanks, Shiro._

He knew Shiro was worried, but Shiro wouldn’t intervene unless he really felt he needed to. There were things regarding the ghosts that Keith sometimes felt compelled to do – looking after the old ghost’s flowers, for instance. While he’d managed to figure out a lot to do with the ghosts, there were still some things that escaped his knowledge. The dreams, the afterlife in general, why some people remained when others didn’t… They all varied in regards to his knowledge on them, but stuff like feeling compelled to do things for ghosts was what truly puzzled Keith.

And while he didn’t particularly feel obligated to go with Lance-the-ghost, he felt like he owed it to Lance-the-dead-boy. He blamed morals for that.

“Is it lunch time now?” Lance asked, peering uncomfortably close over Keith’s shoulder as Keith put away stacks of paperwork he’d organised and certified. “We can go now, right?”

Keith sighed. “Yes, we can go,” he said. “Just slow down a bit.”

Lance hardly seemed to hear him. His excitement was almost palatable. “Come on, come on, hurry up! You’re so slow today, _niño bonito.”_

Rolling his eyes, Keith slipped his phone away and stood. He was still nervous about the whole thing, but he wasn’t going to run away this time. “Okay, let’s go.”

Lance practically buzzed with energy as he led Keith back through the hallways. He chatted all the while, though Keith didn’t reply. There were people in the corridors, doctors and patients alike, and he could only smile at them tensely as he passed. Just like before, the closer they got to Lance’s place, the more that ghosts started to appear. They weren’t as haggard as they had been the previous night, and with living people out and about they were easier to ignore, but they still unsettled him. 

“Where are we going, again?” Keith muttered. 

“You’ll see when we get there,” Lance said. “This way, Keith.”

He was leading Keith down a corridor Keith had never explored. He was sure he was somewhere in the far end of the Green Ward, but towards the upper levels of the building, if not the highest. Hot air rises, and yet Keith’s skin was prickling with cold. He checked his phone and it had only been five minutes since the start of his break, and yet he felt like the entire hour had passed.

“Up through here,” Lance said. He’d turned a corner, and there at the end of the corridor was a stairway. There was no door to conceal it, and when Keith glanced around for a sign, there was none. He hadn’t thought there was a stairway in this section of the ward, and wondered where it led to. The rooftop, maybe? Surely there wasn’t another floor.

“Are you sure this is the way?” Keith asked.

“Of course!” Lance replied, confident. He skipped a few steps ahead, and placed a foot on the bottom step. “I’ve been up here so many times I couldn’t count them all. It’s just up through-”

Keith jumped as Lance flickered out of existence. One moment he was standing there, looking at Keith over his shoulder, and the next he was gone. “Lance?” He hissed, gripping the doorway to peer up the stairs. The stairwell and hallway were both oddly devoid of ghosts, but the strange chill in the air was still present.

There was no one around, so Keith hesitantly made his way up the stairs. He kept a tight grip on the railing as a peculiar, weightless feeling overcame him. He sort of felt like he’d stepped into a dream, and pursed his lips. Ghosts and dreams had never been things that mixed well for him. He had to pause for a moment, just to reassure himself that he wasn’t, in fact, dreaming.

In the dreams, he couldn’t match names and faces. It’s why he never remembered who was in the dreams, and why he struggled to recognise the dreams for what they were. But he could remember Shiro and Pidge and Hunk, could recall their faces to his mind, so he sucked in a big breath and continued up the stairs. It wasn’t a dream, and he’d be fine. This was nothing he couldn’t handle.

The stairs seem to go on for ages, far more than Keith expected. By the time he reached the top of them, the weightlessness had been displaced in favour of breathlessness, though he wasn’t particularly tired. There was a door at the top of the stairs, but it was unlocked. When he pushed it open, he was suddenly overcome by a chilly burst of wind.

It was, in fact, a stairway to the rooftop. He hadn’t known there was a space like this free – the main roof was used as a helicopter landing, and the rest were slanted. This place was wide, with waist-high railings, as though it was designed for use. There were benches facing the view and rows of potted plants that were surprisingly green. The air felt crisp and fresh, even more so than the air in the normal hospital gardens. How could a place so serene exist?

“See, isn’t it great?” Lance said, startling Keith again. He was sitting on one of the wooden benches, his legs crossed. He patted the spot beside him. “Come join me!”

Keith swallowed, but did as Lance asked. He was feeling oddly boneless again, and welcomed the opportunity to sit down. “Where is this place?”

Lance shrugged, and unfolded his legs. They were quite long, Keith noticed. No wonder Lance had an extra inch or two of height over him. “I don’t know, to be completely honest,” Lance said. “I swear the staircase moves every time I look for it.”

“Then how did you know where to find it today?”

“Staircases can’t actually move, Keith. Duh.”

Well then. Keith supposed he should have expected it. He didn’t know how ghosts perceived the real world, did he? Maybe Lance saw this differently than he did, considering he was dead and all. “Do you get lost easily?”

Lance rubbed the back of his neck. “Not usually, I don’t think,” he said. “This place is just really confusing, though it’s easier to find my way around now that you’re here!”

“Me? How so?”

“It just is,” Lance said, shrugging again. “Like, before when I was alone, the only way I could tell the time was if I came up here.”

“Here? Why here? There aren’t any clocks.”

“I can see the sky here,” Lance grinned, lifting a hand to point at the sky. “See? When the stars come out, I know it’s been a day.”

Keith followed his gaze. There were no stars – it was midday, after all – and only a faint few wisps of clouds were stuck in the sky, but it was still a nice day. It felt like an oddly familiar thing to do, to stare at the sky in search of stars. He didn’t know why. “Why not just read a clock?”

“I don’t know,” Lance said. “I can’t really read them.”

“You can’t read a clock?” Keith asked, frowning. What person couldn’t read a clock?

“They just… I can’t see them,” Lance said. “When I look at them, their hands spin around, or they have no hands, or they have no numbers. It’s like all the clocks in the world have a mind of their own, I swear. I could never tell how much time had passed unless I was up here and could see the sun and moon setting. But now that you’re here, I can sometimes read the clocks again.”

Dead people couldn’t read clocks, that’s who. It was all very bizarre. “Is it because I’m the only one who can see you?”

“I think so.”

Keith hummed. Well, he supposed ghosts didn’t really need to tell the time, anyway. They were often only driven by one instinct, after all, and time had no effect on that. In a way, he supposed it made sense that the things living people so heavily relied on to function were unreachable for lingering spirits. “How did you find this place?” He asked. “I didn’t even know it was here.”

“I woke up here,” Lance said. He paused for a moment, then shrugged again. “I don’t really remember much, other than that. I just remember… _being_ here, all of a sudden. Is that strange?”

Keith kind of thought it was, but he didn’t say that. “No, it’s not.” It just still didn’t feel like the right time to tell Lance he was dead, that’s all.

“Okay, that’s good,” Lance said. He sounded oddly relieved, and it made Keith’s dishonesty feel worse than usual. “Oh! There’s something else I want to show you.”

Keith regarded him warily. “What is it?”

Lance pointedly glanced behind them, towards the rows of potted trees. “Behind there.”

Keith didn’t really feel like getting up, but he was curious so he did. When he peered behind the pots, he didn’t see anything in particular, but after a moment he did. He glanced back at Lance and raised his brows. “How did they get up here?”

Lance shrugged, but he was grinning. “I’ve got no clue, but they’re cute, right?”

They were cute, sure, but Keith wasn’t the biggest fan of cats. There were five in total, a mother cat and four little, squirming kittens. He had no idea how a stray had made it into the hospital, least of all how it had somehow managed to make its home on the rooftop, but there it was, slowly blinking at him. 

“We should totally name them,” Lance said. He was beside Keith now, spreading apart the branches of the trees to get a view of the cats. “How about we name them all Nemo?”

“Uh, no.”

“Fine,” Lance rolled his eyes. “This half can be Lance Junior, and that half can be Mullet Junior.”

“Lance.”

“What?”

“No.”

“Aw, fine then,” Lance pouted. “Fun killer. What do you suggest then, huh?”

“Do we have to name them? It’s not like they’ll stay here forever.”

“Keith.”

“Fine, fine,” Keith said, relenting. He didn’t put up much of a fight, mostly because he didn’t want to make Lance upset. For some reason, he didn’t think that was because Lance was a ghost, either. He really should stop thinking of Lance as anything other than a spirit. “How about we name them after the wards, since there’s five?”

“Wards?”

“It’s how the Garrison divides the hospital for the recruits. Black, Red, Blue, Green and Yellow.”

Lance grinned, and threw his arm around Keith’s waist. “Perfect! That one there is totally Blue. She’s my fave. You can have Red! He’s grumpy.”

“Thanks.”


	9. The Room Where Lance Died

Keith lost track of time as he relaxed in Lance’s garden. He felt like he’d been there for ages, and he found that he didn’t have as strong an urge to return to work as he’d had before. It was almost like he forgot about it. He thought that he could stay with Lance up there for hours and hours on end without any problem.

For what it was worth, Lance was quite excited to have Keith up there with him. He never let a single moment become awkward, and talked enough that Keith never floundered for something to say. He wasn’t exactly shy about getting into Keith’s space, either, and leaned across him as though Keith were his personal armrest. At some point, the little family of cats ventured out from behind the potted plants to greet them. Red was quite grouchy, much to Keith’s dismay. Lance seemed to find their “similar personalities” more than amusing.

“I’m telling you Keith, Red is totally going to inherit your scowl!”

“Inherit? He’s a cat.”

Lance shushed him. “Don’t be mean to the kittens, Keith. They’re only babies.”

Keith frowned, though it wasn’t a cold look. How did Lance have the energy to be so upbeat all the time? Not even living people could do that. “Do you sleep up here?” He asked.

Lance hummed, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I don’t really sleep all that much? I can’t really remember sleeping anyway. Is that normal?”

 _No._ “Yeah, seems fine to me.”

“Well, that’s good! You are the doctor, and all.”

Keith winced. He wasn’t really a doctor, but he didn’t bother correcting Lance. He still hadn’t found the right time to explain to Lance that he was actually a ghost. “So you don’t really sleep?”

“Nope!”

“Then I guess you don’t dream, either.”

“Not really, but I get a lot of weird memories,” Lance said, humming. “They’re like dreams.”

They were probably memories from his life. Keith thought it was kind of sad that the accumulations of all of Lance’s experiences had come to be nothing more than dreams. He wanted to ask what Lance remembered, but he didn’t. Who knew how prompting such memories to return would affect Lance.

It took Keith a while to start thinking that perhaps he should start to head back. He didn’t know how long he’d been up there in Lance’s garden, and when he glanced at his phone to check the time, the numbers on his screen read a straight set of zeroes. _That’s weird._ He felt like he couldn’t even trust the sun up in the sky.

“Maybe I should start heading back,” Keith said, as he slipped his phone away. He felt a worried frown tugging at his lips, but he didn’t want Lance to see it. Why hadn’t he thought about the time until then? It wasn’t like him. “It’s hard to keep track of time up here.”

“Yeah,” Lance said, sighing, “it is. Shall we go, then?”

Keith nodded, and stood. One moment Lance was there, but the next he was gone, and Keith was left reeling. It was the same thing that had happened before, but this time it felt more disorientating. The garden space felt a lot less welcoming with Lance around, and he was quick to escape it through the door. He all but tripped down the stairs on his way down, and as soon as his foot touched the floor the air _changed._

For one, it became colder. Keith sucked in a deep breath and, for a moment, it got stuck in his throat. When he glanced back up the stairs, they seemed completely normal. It was as though the garden had never existed, or that he had never existed in it.

With shaking hands, he dialled Shiro’s number. He picked up on the third ring. 

“Shiro? I’m back.”

“Keith? What do you mean? You only just left,” Shiro said. “Are you okay?”

“What?” With a start, Keith drew the phone away from his ear to peer at the numbers on the screen. The time hadn’t moved since he’d last seen it functioning. “How can that be…?”

“Keith?”

“I’m alright,” Keith said, bringing the phone to his ear again. “I’m alright. Ghosts are just… unsettling.”

“If you’re sure…”

Keith wasn’t sure. He wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, and trying to wrap his mind around it had only given him a headache. So Lance’s place wasn’t just a hidden rooftop garden, after all. If that was the case, then what _was_ it? Lance seemed to move freely in an out of it, but Keith struggled and became confused and unbalanced. Was it a place just for ghosts, then? How did Keith even end up there?

Thinking about it just made his head hurt even more.

 

The next day, Keith all but dragged himself to work. He hadn’t been able to sleep the previous night; his mind had been preoccupied with Lance. He’d never met a ghost like Lance, and just didn’t know how to read him. Some part of him kind of liked hanging out with Lance, even if he was a bit of an irritation. Were he were alive, Keith wondered if they would have been friends.

When he arrived, Lance was standing at the entrance. For a second Keith didn’t recognise him, because ghosts trapped in hospitals couldn’t _leave_ the hospitals. They just couldn’t. And yet there Lance was, standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie as though he wasn’t breaking every rule Keith had painstakingly spent hard years working out. 

“Keith! _Niño bonito,_ good morning!” Lance waved as a grin stretched across his face. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you.”

Keith gave him a puzzled look. He couldn’t exactly stop walking in the middle of the entryway so he continued, but he made sure to meet Lance’s eyes and encourage him along. There were people around, so he pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed it to his ear so that he wouldn’t look like he was talking to himself. “Morning,” he mumbled. He felt ridiculous. “What are you doing outside?”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“You… don’t usually go outside.”

“Oh! Well, I had nothing to do, so I thought I’d wait for you,” Lance grinned. “It feels kind of weird leaving the building, though. I thought it would be colder out here.”

It was pretty chilly, but Keith kept that to himself. Ghosts didn’t feel the cold, after all. “You don’t ever leave it, then?”

Lance shrugged, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not really,” he said. “But I want to go to the inner gardens. I could see them from my window.”

“Your window?”

Lance nodded. “Want to see?”

Keith checked the time, and although it was almost time for him to start, he nodded. There was a smile on his face; Lance’s was infectious. “Alright, but quickly.”

“Okay!”

There were several outdoor areas located throughout the hospital, particularly around the Yellow and Blue Wards for children and long-term inpatients to use. The hospital itself was very green anyway, and it had many gardens, but the smaller ones that were used for fresh-air breaks and lunch time breaks were perhaps some of the quaintest. 

The one Lance led him to wasn’t one that Keith had visited before. It was an inner courtyard, with lines of bushes and flowers, and wooden benches for sitting. There wasn’t anyone out there, so Keith lowered his phone. A small stone path led to the centre of the courtyard, and that was where Lance and Keith walked.

“My room was up there, I think,” Lance said, pointing up to the building blocking in the courtyard. There were rows of windows facing the yard, some with their curtains open, others completely closed up. “What are those rooms for, anyway?”

Keith frowned thoughtfully. He couldn’t quite remember which section of the hospital that building was. “I’m not sure,” he finally said. “I’ll figure it out later and tell you then.”

“Okay,” Lance said. “Did you have another nightmare last night? You look tired.”

“Just couldn’t sleep.”

A small frown touched Lance’s face. “Why?”

Keith only shrugged. He couldn’t sleep because he was having a moral dilemma over Lance’s current living status, but it wasn’t like he could say that. “Just can’t.”

Lance gave him a look, then shrugged too. He stretched his arms high above his head, curving his back, before resting hands on the nape of his neck. “So! What’s the plan for today, then? Another day filled with boring appointments and sick people?”

Keith snorted. “That is my job, yes,” he said. Together they exited the courtyard, and started making their way towards the lockers where Keith could grab his white coat and pager, and leave his belongings. “Does it bore you?”

“Oh, terribly,” Lance teased. He had a grin on his face now, one that Keith was becoming used to. “You’ve got to find a way to make our time together more _fun,_ Keith! All these blood tests and hours spent filing and running errands is exhausting me for all the wrong reasons.”

A small laugh built up in Keith’s chest. Lance really was quite dramatic, wasn’t he? At least the sound of Keith’s laughter seemed to make him happier. “Work is work, you know,” Keith said. “Fun is for break times.”

“You spend your break eating and ignoring me, though,” Lance pouted.

“Can’t help it if I’m hungry.”

“Why don’t you eat your lunch with me, then? Where we can talk!”

Oddly enough, it sounded like an incredibly appealing idea. Keith usually ate with Shiro, or with Hunk and Pidge if their breaks managed to line up, and even then his attention was split between them and whatever Lance was chattering about. If he ate in an empty office, then he could talk with Lance more… “I’ll see.”

But first he had to figure out which ward Lance’s “room” was in.

 

The Blue Ward entryway sign practically loomed above Keith. It seemed foreboding, as though it were a warning sign telling him to stay away. Keith had never reacted so strongly to something, ghosts excluded. No object had made him feel that way before.

_It’s just a sign. Get a grip._

But it figured that Lance’s room was in the Blue Ward, considering what had happened before. While Keith’s errands didn’t lead him in that direction, he had one then that meant he could take a detour through it, if he chose (which he usually didn’t). However, once he’d figured out that the courtyard from the morning was adjacent to the Blue Ward, he’d known there was no other place the room in question could be.

Entering the Blue Ward made his heart race. He could feel his palms dampening with sweat the moment he entered the corridor, and it took him several deep breaths to compose himself. For what it was worth, the corridor seemed just as normal as the rest of the hospital, if not more. There were friendly paintings on the walls, and the waiting rooms were crowded with children’s toys, books and gardening magazines. There was nothing harsh or rushed about the Blue Ward, not like Red. 

He found Hunk at the main desk.

“Hey, Keith! Nice to see you,” Hunk said, smiling. “Is that the paperwork the doctors requested?”

“Yeah.”

It was comforting to see Hunk. Although the Blue Ward was incredibly distressing, Hunk wasn’t. He was a warm, welcoming light in a harsh, unforgiveable environment.

“Hey, Hunk, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Which rooms face the courtyard?”

Hunk’s brow furrowed. “The courtyard? Why?”

Keith shrugged. “Curious.”

“Well… those rooms would be in the coma patient ward, I think. Those patients are the ones with deadlines.”

“Deadlines?”

“A certain amount of time before the life support is switched off.”

Keith felt his heart sink. _Is that how he died?_

_Did someone give up on him?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not the best artist, but I gave [it a go](http://fairydens.tumblr.com/post/151794745793/you-know-i-want-to-know-why-i) ahh ^^"


	10. The Lies You Tell When You Are Scared

Keith sat at his small kitchen table, staring a hole into the worn wood of its surface. He had his staff identification tag in front of him, and a cup of lukewarm tea curled between his fingers. It had been a long afternoon, after he’d left the Blue Ward. He hadn’t seen Lance again.

There was something unsettling about that Ward. It lingered on his skin like a bad smell, and the air felt choked full of _something._ Only when he’d come home that evening did he realise he hadn’t seen any ghosts in the Blue Ward while he was there. They were usually everywhere, and in a place like the Blue Ward he would have expected to see them crowding every corridor. Maybe he just hadn’t noticed them – it seemed like a plausible excuse, and it had happened before. Some ghosts were just very lifelike, that’s all.

Especially Lance. Whenever he thought about lifelike ghosts – or ghosts in general – he couldn’t help but let his mind stray to Lance, now. Lance was definitely the most lifelike ghost he’d ever come across, and was certainly the most abnormal. What sort of ghost couldn’t see other ghosts, could touch living people? A ghost like Lance, obviously. It frustrated Keith more than he thought it would.

He sighed raggedly, and leaned forwards to rest his cheek against the tabletop. He was tired of thinking about it. Ever since he’d visited the Blue Ward, he’d felt… off. It was like something wasn’t right in his head. He wished he knew more about Lance, more about how he’d died and what sort of ghost he was. Keith felt like he was too old to be coming across new kinds of ghosts, and wanted all the answers already. However, no amount of thinking about it was doing him any good. 

It was easier to think of Lance like a person. Like a living person, and not a boy Keith’s age who had died too young. Maybe he was just… too full of life to die properly. Could that even happen? It kind of seemed like Lance was the type of person to defy all odds, even at the exasperation of others. He was the kind of person that was friends with everyone, that everyone was friends with.

He was he kind of person who’d be really missed.

Thinking about it just made Keith even tireder. Everything would have been better if Lance wasn’t dead, but he didn’t get to wish for things like that. Ghosts were ghosts, whether they felt human or not. He’d just have to learn that the hard way.

 

The next day, Keith found himself in the Green Ward. Red was surprisingly quiet, and he’d finished all of the week’s filing throughout the week, so he was relocated for the day. He was guiltily relieved that he wasn’t sent to the Blue Ward. That place just… it didn’t scare him, exactly, but he didn’t enjoy being there. Even more so knowing that it was very likely where Lance had died.

Speaking of Lance, the ghost took a while to appear that day. Without Lance to occupy his thoughts, he found himself becoming more and more tempted to go through the files that the Green Ward had access to. He was sitting in an office all day, after all, with access to a computer and a useable password. 

It was with some sort of hesitance that he logged into the hospital’s database. Any information on Lance should have been stored on it and kept for billing purposes and for the family’s medical records, so he knew it was there. He just had to look for it, right? Just had to type in Lance’s name to see everything that had happened to him.

But it felt wrong.

He thought that, in any other circumstance, he would have done it without a second thought. He should have been actively pursuing a way to help Lance move on, and he wasn’t. Every other ghost he’d “helped” were ghosts he’d gotten rid of as soon as he could. But not Lance. He was different, he felt different and acted different. How could he pry into Lance’s personal information, information that even Lance didn’t know about, and then look him in the eyes? 

It was with a certain amount of shame that he logged out of the system. He just couldn’t do it.

Keith wondered if Lance had gotten lost trying to find him, considering he was in a different ward, but he quickly dismissed that idea. Lance had taken to waiting for him out the front of the hospital, or in the locker room. Keith spent the entire morning wondering where he was, until he appeared.

“You’re late,” Keith muttered, as Lance abruptly flickered into existence beside him. 

“Oh, did you miss me, Keith?” Lance asked, grinning. “How sweet! We’re destined to be, aren’t we?”

It was just teasing, Keith knew that, but he still felt himself fighting off some sort of embarrassed reaction. He didn’t believe in anything like destiny or fate because he’d never had a reason to. He didn’t know what he thought about Lance’s flirting anymore. 

“Where were you?” He asked instead.

“The garden,” Lance said. “It’s hard to tell the time up there, you know.”

Keith did know. He’d thought about that a lot last night, too, and had come to the conclusion that it was definitely some sort of paranormal place. There was no other explanation for it, and he certainly wouldn’t have ever been able to get there without Lance. 

“Lance, do you remember anything about before you… became invisible?” Keith asked.

Lance hummed thoughtfully, and then shook his head. “Not really. It’s never crossed my mind, you know?”

“Well... if I could find out, would you want to know?” Keith offered hesitantly.

Lance gave him a puzzled look. “Why?” He asked. “Do you know anything? I mean, were we friends or something? You do seem kind of familiar, I think.”

Keith had thought that Lance was familiar too, right? He glanced away. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “But if I could find out, would you want me to?”

“These are weird questions,” Lance remarked.

“Sorry.”

It was probably unfounded, but Keith felt conflicted. There was no way that he could keep the relationship he had with Lance as it was, and not only because Lance was a ghost. He still had to worry about his dreams, and Lance’s odd tendencies. The Blue Ward was a problem, too. Come to think of it, if Keith’s reaction to that ward was so strong, maybe that was where the violent spirit was. Maybe that was why Lance couldn’t go in there, too.

“Keith? You alright there, buddy?” Lance asked, peering closer. “You look tired again. Did you have another nightmare last night?”

“Something like that,” he said quietly. “I’m fine.”

Lance made a small, neutral noise. He seemed to have changed, in that moment. It was like his cheerful personality had changed, like he was _worried,_ but ghosts didn’t feel things like that. They only had one instinct, one driving thought or emotion – Lance shouldn’t have had any room left in him for things like worry. It really just didn’t make sense.

“Don’t worry too much, Keith!” Lance said, patting a hand to Keith’s shoulder in some sort of attempt at comfort. “I’ll figure out a way to keep your dreams nightmare free.”

“M-mm,” Keith let out a shaky sound. The weight of Lance’s hand was pressing down on his shoulder, as tangible and real as anyone else’s hand had ever been. He couldn’t help but stare at Lance, feeling something warm and squirmy in his stomach. The hazy edge that all ghosts had was lessening and lessening around Lance, but Keith hadn’t noticed until then. He was around Lance too much for him to have ever noticed.

“Do you remember what they’re about yet?”

Keith shook his thoughts away. “Remember what?”

“The dreams.”

“Oh,” he frowned, and shook his head again. “No, I never can. I just get… weird feelings from them.”

“Weird how?”

“Like… Like they’re not my feelings, or something.” _I wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t._

“Huh,” Lance said. “That’s weird. What do you feel, anyway?”

“It’s… complicated,” Keith said. “Each dream is different, I think.”

“What about the recent ones, then?”

Keith frowned again, and tried to think back on them. The first he’d had since coming to the hospital had left him terrified and gasping. That one had definitely left him feeling frightened, but it wasn’t straight up fear. He was afraid of _something,_ something important. It reminded him of the feelings he got when he’d knowingly done something wrong, or when he’d failed something incredibly important, but only worse. It was a type of fear that was foreign and almost indescribable.

The other dream, however… it had definitely been different. He’d been left reeling, of course he had, but afterwards there was no lingering panic. He’d just felt empty after that, like some part of him he hadn’t known he’d needed had been taken away. It was a very vacant feeling, a sick feeling. He didn’t want to remember it.

“They’re just not good,” he finally answered. “I don’t really think there’s a way to stop them.”

“There’s always a way,” Lance huffed. He placed both his hands on Keith’s shoulders and pulled, turning Keith to face him. “I’ll figure a way out, don’t worry! There’s always a way.”

Keith felt his throat tighten. There was a force behind Lance’s actions, one _real_ enough to affect him physically. Ghosts couldn’t do that. They couldn’t. They couldn’t touch real people, couldn’t worry about real people, couldn’t affect real people.

They couldn’t hurt real people.

_But Lance could._

Even if he hadn’t, the knowledge that he could terrified Keith. He’d never been the type of person to fear change, but this was fundamentally different. There was no way Lance was the only ghost to ever exist that could do the things he could do. 

And yet, he found himself murmuring a quiet, “Okay,” as if nothing would ever go wrong. He hoped nothing would. He wasn’t the type of person to be a wishful thinker, either, and yet he found himself hoping that things worked out, but how could they? Lance was dead. And then, abruptly, Lance disappeared.

_“Lance?”_

Keith was getting over the whole I-can-go-anywhere-I-want thing that ghosts had going on. He almost stumbled forwards when Lance’s presence in front of him suddenly disappeared. Briefly, he had a thought that maybe he should give Lance a cat’s collar so that he would jingle when he was near.

“Keith?”

He jumped again, and turned to face Pidge, who stood at the door. “Sorry,” he said, apprehensive. “I didn’t realise you were there.”

“Who were you talking to just then?”

“N-no one.”

“Didn’t sound like no one.”

“Sorry,” he said again, when nothing else came to mind.

“Did you just say ‘Lance’?” Pidge asked. His fingers were curled around the frame of the door, and he had a deep frown pulling at the corners of his lips. “Keith? Where did you hear that name?”

Keith’s mind scrambled to come up with an answer. He couldn’t exactly tell Pidge that he was talking to a dead boy, could he? Why did Pidge look so agitated, anyway? “I… it’s the name of a patient from the Red Ward,” Keith finally muttered. “He’s been getting blood tests for the past two weeks. I thought you were him. Your footsteps are similar.”

Pidge frowned at him. “I thought you said you didn’t realise I was there.”

“I lied.” 

Pidge frowned again. It was the same kind of frown he had when Keith first met him, and it made some part of Keith ache. Pidge had always been the one who resented him the most, and he’d had worked hard to eventually change that. 

He felt like he’d done something really bad.


	11. The Distance A Ghost Can Go

Keith knew that Pidge was suspicious of him. The air between them was tense and silent, so much so that even Shiro had noticed, despite the fact that he hardly spent any time with the both of them. Keith spent a lot of his own time dodging Shiro’s worried glances and concerned questions. Hunk’s, as well, and saying _no_ to Hunk was not an easy thing. 

It was troubling, to say the least. Keith purposefully avoided all social situations that could lead to something awkward because they made him so uncomfortable. He’d grown to dislike them quite profusely after being caught doing stupid things for ghosts a dozen times, and would rather avoid any repeat situations. 

But it felt different this time. It was like Pidge knew Lance, though it was more likely he knew someone _named_ Lance. It wasn’t a very common name, but a lot of people had uncommon names these days, or even odd nicknames. After all, Pidge’s name, birth name aside, wasn’t common. Working in a hospital meant that they were bound to come across dozens of people with the same name, even the uncommon ones. Keith had already heard of patients with his own name, so thinking that Pidge knew someone named Lance was not so unexpected.

At least believing that calmed him a little. Now that he’d perked Pidge’s interest, he felt like he couldn’t shake it off. Pidge’s eyes followed him, and consequently that meant they followed Lance. Even if Pidge couldn’t see him, Lance could see Pidge, and he’d noticed the tenseness between them.

“Is that one of your friends?” Lance asked, as he watched Pidge over Lance’s shoulder. Keith was trying to eat his lunch as fast as he could, but he could feel Pidge’s eyes burning holes into his back. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten in the cafeteria, but he didn’t think his break would line up with Pidge’s. It usually didn’t, after all. Today just wasn’t his day.

Keith hummed. He was alone at his table, but even so that didn’t mean he could just talk to Lance as freely as he wanted to. He was starting to wish he’d found a place where he could eat with Lance alone, even if just for conversation’s sake. 

“Did you guys have a fight, or something?” Lance frowned, tilting his head to the side. He was watching Keith’s face now, as if it would suddenly have all the answers. “He’s glaring pretty hard right now.”

“I know,” Keith muttered into his food. He didn’t need Lance spelling it out for him – he could tell that Pidge was irritated at him for being secretive, and maybe he was blowing this out of proportion a bit, but still. He didn’t want Pidge to start hating him again.

“Well I’m sure you’ll figure it out!” Lance decided, leaning back to stretch his arms high above his head. “He seems like the type of guy that’s honest with how he feels, anyway.”

_What an oddly correct assumption._

 

As afternoon began to roll around, so did storm clouds. Keith hadn’t expected it to rain that day, and wasn’t prepared for any wet weather. The hospital always got particularly busy when it rained, and although Keith’s jobs were geared more towards patients with appointments, there were always walk-ins and extra paperwork to be sorted and filed. 

Ghosts became more rowdy, too. Keith wasn’t sure what it was about the rain that made them suddenly become more energetic, but he thought it was the atmosphere the rain brought. Not only was it usually colder, but people were more despondent, or more on edge. When energies like that shifted, so did the ghosts. It was an invisible push and pull, one that neither side had any control over.

For what it was worth, Keith enjoyed the rain. It was cleansing, and it created barriers. When he was at home and the rain poured, he was shielded. No one could get in or out if the rain completely stopped them. And even if he was stuck at the hospital working, he still liked the rain, still liked hearing it on the roof and smelling it on the air that crashed in through open doors.

Lance seemed more riled up than usual, though. He followed closely after Keith, and at times Keith could feel his fingers pulling on the hem of Keith’s coat. Loud noises started to bother him, and more than once Keith saw him jump when a door was slammed or a person walked with footsteps a tad too heavy. 

“I like storms, and I love the rain, don’t get me wrong,” Lance said, when Keith mentioned it, “but something feels really, really bad.”

Lance’s fear made something in Keith twist. If he could have protected Lance, he would have. There was an instinct running wild in him that he couldn’t shake, one that urged him to make Lance smile again. He’d gotten far too used to Lance’s positive attention, so much so that anything less was making his hackles rise. “What’s bad about it?” He asked, as he glanced at Lance over his shoulder. 

Their height difference wasn’t that much, but Lance had somehow managed to make himself seem small as he trailed close behind Keith. “Just is,” Lance said, with a hunched shrug. “Can’t explain it.”

“Do you like the rain?” Keith asked. Maybe if he distracted Lance, then the worried furrow in his brow would disappear.

Lance seemed surprised by the question, but nodded. “I do,” he said. He glanced away, and frowned again. “I like the rain. It makes people honest.”

Keith raised his brows. “Honest?”

Lance shrugged again. “It just… it changes things, doesn’t air? Like, the air. It makes people feel different.”

Keith nodded. That was something he understood. 

“When I was a kid, I’d always shout out right when the thunder broke,” Lance said. His eyes had gone soft, and with every word he spoke the furrow in his brows began to lessen. “It made me feel powerful, like I could face my fears. If I couldn’t hear what I was saying, if I couldn’t hear that I was admitting I was scared, then I felt fearless, you know? When I opened my mouth and the thunder broke, I felt invincible.”

It was perhaps one of the most serious things that Lance had ever said. Something about his words made Keith’s heart thump. He knew that ghosts only functioned with one instinct, with one driving force – people feared ghosts because ghosts did not fear people. So how could Lance remember being afraid, remember fearing something, when he was dead? It didn’t make sense. It _couldn’t_ make sense.

“What are you afraid of?” Keith asked. His breath was caught in his throat. 

Something in Lance shifted, and this time when he shrugged, he had his normal, charming grin twitching at the corner of his lips. “Oh, are you trying to be my knight in shining armour now, Keith?”

Oddly enough, seeing Lance return to normal was a relief. He wasn’t exactly the same as before, and hadn’t let go of Keith’s coat, but it was close enough to soothe Keith’s worries. Still, Lance’s words gave him a lot to think about. If Lance was sensing something bad in the hospital, then there was little doubt in Keith’s mind that something dark was lurking in its corridors. Maybe the rain had brought it.

At the end of the day, Keith lingered in the locker room. He’d already taken his coat off and replaced it with his jacket, and he could have left ten minutes ago, but he hadn’t. He was tired and wanted dinner, sure, but some part of him told him it wasn’t safe to leave… that it wasn’t safe to leave _Lance._

“Do you really have to go?” Lance asked. He was whining, but beneath that was something Keith didn’t think he would have noticed if he hadn’t known Lance for as long as he had. “Can’t you just stay here tonight, or something?”

“I have to go home,” Keith murmured. 

Lance pursed his lips. “But you don’t have an umbrella.”

“I have a car.”

“What if the roads are flooded?”

“They aren’t. It would have been on the news.”

“What if you have another nightmare?”

Keith winced. He didn’t even want to think about that.

Lance made a frustrated noise. “I don’t want you to go,” he mumbled, eyes downcast.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Keith said. He sounded strained to his own ears, and he was suddenly overcome by the urge to draw Lance into his arms. It frightened him, and he felt shaken at the realisation that he was attached to Lance. He’d never felt that feeling for a living person, let alone a dead one. It was like playing with fire.

Keith didn’t like the idea of being burned.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said again.

Lance sucked in a deep breath, and reluctantly nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

_The house was empty. It was always, always empty. Pictures were not allowed to be hung on the walls, and drawings were not to be pinned to the fridge with magnets. Keith stood in the lounge room, where the television remote was out of reach and the coffee table was made of glass and he wondered if this place was really his home._

_But it was, he knew that. It had just never felt like home._

_The phone began to ring. It gave off one shrill peal, then a second, and a third. Keith watched it from where he stood, watched its lights flicker on and off. Children were not meant to answer the phone. Children did not touch things meant for adults, but there were no adults home. His mother and father had left earlier that morning. After a while, the phone stopped._

_And then it started again._

_Phones only rang twice if it was an emergency. He was meant to answer the phone if it was an emergency, but…_

_Cautiously, he climbed up onto the couch. He was too little to do so without gripping the arm of it first. After tucking his sock-covered feet beneath him, he reached for the phone. It sat on a little table by the lounge. “Hello?”_

_“Hello. I’m looking for Mr or Mrs Kogane. This number was listed as an emergency contact under their names.”_

_“That’s my parents,” he said._

_“Are they home, young man?”_

_“No.”_

_“Do you know their number? It’s an emergency.”_

_“You can tell me,” he said. “I’m an adult.”_

_“You have to hand the phone over to them, young man,” the operator said. “Takashi Shirogane has been in an accident.”_

_Abruptly, the phone cut out. It was beeping. Keith brought it away from his ear, and glanced across the room. A lonely cat meowed outside, its voice carrying through the glass doors for a short moment, before everything became frightfully quiet. “Shiro, the man said you were in an accident,” he said._

_Shiro gave him a sad smile. “I’ll be fine,” he said, as he stood up off the couch. The hair that fell between his eyes was turning from black to white. “I’ll be fine, you hear me, Keith? I won’t leave you.”_

_Keith set the phone back down, and sunk back into the couch. “Okay,” he mumbled._

_And then he was alone._

 

Keith choked as he violently jerked awake. His skin felt like it had been torn back and the more he moved, the more it hurt. Something cold was pressing against his face and he fought against it, fought against the weight holding his shoulders down. His sheets were tangled in his legs and he frantically kicked them off.

“Shiro, Shiro!” He shouted, panicked.

“Keith!”

That wasn’t Shiro. Keith’s eyes snapped wide open as he lurched upright. Even in the darkness of his bedroom he could see the faint outline of someone leaning across the bed. Blue eyes watched him.

_“Lance?!”_


	12. The Dead Can Share No Secrets

“Lance, what are you doing here?” Keith hissed. His heart was racing in his chest, and he couldn’t help but clutch at his sheets. Was he still dreaming? No, dreams didn’t feel like this, didn’t feel so forceful and tangible. He could feel the sheets beneath his hands, could feel the sweat in his hair and on his skin. Those were things that didn’t exist in dreams.

“Are you okay?” Lance asked, his brow furrowed in concern. His knees pressed against the bed as he leaned closer, seemingly unaware of just how near their faces were becoming. “You were making a lot of scared noises just then.”

Keith blinked rapidly as his heart raced. “What are you doing here?” He repeated. “How did you get here?”

Lance gave him a puzzled look. His hands rested on either side of Keith as he leaned down, and his closeness was making Keith nervous. “Are you okay?” Lance asked again.

“Lance, answer me,” Keith insisted. He shifted back a little, and let his sheet fall around his thighs. He could feel sweat drying on the back of his neck. “I thought you were stuck at the hospital.”

“I told you I’d figure out a way to stop your nightmares, didn’t it?” Lance said, as he sat back and crossed his legs. “What were you dreaming about?”

Keith pursed his lips. He wanted Lance to answer his questions, but he was starting to think that this was one of those times were Lance couldn’t make sense of it himself, either. Last time this happened had been when Keith asked him about his friends, and that hadn’t turned out well. 

But maybe it was time to face the harder questions.

“I was dreaming about ghosts,” Keith said. “You know the guy with the scar across his nose from work? He died, once, when I was a kid.”

“Oh,” Lance said, quiet. “He’s your friend, right? He waits for you in the morning.”

Keith glanced down. “He’s more like family.” 

Lance hummed. “I was wondering about that, actually,” he said, leaning closer again. “We’ve never really talked about your family, huh?”

“Yours either.”

“Well… I guess that’s true,” Lance agreed. He glanced around for a moment, before his eyes returned to Keith. “You don’t have any pictures, except for one with the guy who has that scar… What’s his name, again?”

“Shiro,” Keith answered. “I don’t live with my parents, and I haven’t for a while. Shiro raised me for a bit when I was a teenager, before I moved in here.”

“Shiro raised you? Why?”

Keith tried not to sigh. A living person wouldn’t have asked something like that, knowing it would make the other person uncomfortable, but Lance wasn’t living, was he? Even if Keith didn’t want to talk about it, he couldn’t blame Lance. To him, it kind of felt like it would be okay if he talked to Lance about this sort of thing. Maybe it was because Lance had no one else to tell. 

“My parents just weren’t around,” Keith said, shrugging limply. “They travel a lot for work. I was home by myself most of the time.”

“That’s not really fair to you,” Lance said. 

His brutal honesty was quite confronting, but for now, Keith stomached it. He couldn’t say Lance was wrong, exactly, but some instinctual part of him lurched to defend his parents. He was still somewhat financially dependant on them, and they had given him everything he wanted as a kid. Didn’t he owe it to them to protect their name? To them, reputation was everything.

“Do you get nightmares often? About Shiro?”

It was an unexpected question. Keith was surprised Lance didn’t ask more about his parents, considering family seemed to be quite important to him, even if he didn’t remember anything about his own. “I… sometimes,” he said. “I usually can’t remember my nightmares, not the bad ones.”

“I guess that’s a good thing,” Lance said. He shifted on the bed, crawling close enough to make Keith lean back, before laying down. Keith gave him a strange look as Lance rested his head on Keith’s pillow, but Lance didn’t look at him. Instead, he stared at the ceiling. “You know, I swear I could see the stars from my bed,” he said.

A strange feeling perked up in the back of Keith’s mind. It was like there was a thought on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t quite say it. “The stars?” He asked.

Lance nodded, and stretched out a hand, his fingers splayed wide. “Yeah. I love space. Space is cool, don’t you think?”

Considering Keith was a part of the Galaxy Garrison, he did think space was pretty cool. He didn’t say that, though. Instead he just watched Lance, as Lance lowered his hand back down across his stomach. 

“Keith, is there a reason I can’t really remember much?”

Keith’s heart lurched. He wanted Lance to know, didn’t he? Lance needed to know he had died, right? So why did he suddenly feel so sick? He laid down beside Lance, and tried to swallow whatever had lodged itself in his throat. “Maybe,” he said, but he sounded choked, or shaky, even to his own ears. “What do you remember?”

_I can’t tell him._

“Not much,” Lance said. “It’s sort of like… just imprints of memories, not real memories. Like I know my favourite colour is blue, and that space is cool, and that family is important, but… Names and faces, and important things, I can’t really… remember them.”

“Do you want to remember them?” Keith asked. He followed Lance’s gaze and tried to imagine he could see stars on his ceiling, but the image wouldn’t come. 

“Well, I don’t want to forget them,” Lance said. “It’s like there are gaps in my memory, or something, but it feels deeper than that.”

Keith glanced at him, turning his head to the side ever so slightly. He was surprised to find that Lance was already looking at him, and it brought their faces impossibly close together. Lance’s breath was cold across his cheeks. He didn’t pull away.

“The only thing I can remember, completely,” Lance said, “is you.”

 

It was hard to distinguish the point where Keith fell asleep that night. His conversation with Lance reminded him of the garden; it was secret, and hidden away in a hazy mist that couldn’t be pierced by rationality. When he’d woken, it was to find himself in an empty room, with a cold band wrapped around his waist. His skin had been red and dry, and it had taken an extra long, extra hot shower for it to go back to normal. He wasn’t sure what caused it.

For the first time, he was reluctant to go to work. He found that his bed was more tempting than usual. With the dreary clouds hovering just outside his windows, he’d wanted to do nothing more than fall asleep again. He knew he hadn’t rested well, but maybe it was worse than he’d thought.

If he were being honest, the only thing that encouraged him to function was Shiro. He just wanted to make sure Shiro was alright.

Considering how reluctant he’d been the entire morning, he was surprised to find himself at work early. The hospital was always buzzing with activity, but during the early morning and late evening it usually quietened out. That’s how it was then, when he arrived. Silent, uncomfortably so, and still. He didn’t like it.

Like usual, Shiro was there before the rest of the cadets. He set up the rosters for the day, and carried out many of his duties before the rest of them arrived. Keith found him in the locker room, quietly pulling his prosthetic through the arm of his white coat. He jumped when Keith nudged the door open.

“You’re here early,” he said, as a smile flittered over his face. It dropped when Keith didn’t meet his eyes, and with less care than before, he finished pulling on his coat, and moved closer. “Keith? Are you alright?”

Keith dropped his forehead against Shiro’s chest, and slumped. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t think he needed to, not when he knew Shiro could read him like a book. It was ridiculous that he felt so relieved just seeing Shiro, but he’d never gotten over Shiro’s death, not really. Shiro had been the only living person Keith ever knew who’d return from being a ghost. To think Shiro had suffered a pain so bad that he became whatever ghosts became when they were trapped… it made him feel sick to his stomach.

Being a ghost seemed worse than being dead.

“Did you have another nightmare?” Shiro asked, as he rubbed Keith’s back. It was a comfort that reminded Keith of his childhood, and for moment among countless other moments he was incredibly glad that Shiro had taken care of him so much. 

“It wasn’t like the other ones I’ve had recently,” Keith mumbled. His fingers tightened in Shiro’s shirt, where they’d unintentionally found their way. 

Shiro sighed. He didn’t push Keith away, or try to tell him to forget what had happened. Things like that had happened in the past; where people who didn’t understand Keith’s strange habits had tried to comfort him in a way that only made him more upset. Shiro was the only person who had ever understood him. 

“We need to sort this out properly,” Shiro said. “If you’re so stressed about this ghost that you’re dreaming of me again, then something isn’t going right. I’m going to look into any violent or criminal deaths that occurred here, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Is there something else?” Shiro asked. “I know this makes you uncomfortable, but I hate not knowing how to help you. Something else happened, didn’t it?”

Keith cringed. He didn’t know how Shiro always knew things like that, but he did. He really could read Keith better than anyone else. “You know that ghost that’s been following me around?” He asked quietly. “The flirty one.”

“Yeah.”

“He was in my room last night.”

Shiro stiffened. “What?”

“He’s not attached to the hospital. At least, not anymore.”

“How is that possible?”

Keith lifted a shoulder, and dropped it restlessly. “I don’t know. It’s not meant to be.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Keith shook his head, abruptly offended at the idea that Lance could ever possibly hurt him. “No, he just… talked with me. We just talked. He woke me up from the nightmare.”

Shiro was tense for a long, silent moment, but the gentle motion of his hand on Keith’s back didn’t stop. “You know I don’t trust ghosts,” he started, his voice slow and careful, “and that I can’t judge them or understand them in the way you can, but do you think continuing to communicate with this ghost is a good idea? For all we know, he might be the one giving you nightmares.”

Keith wanted to recoil. His body tensed like he might, but he didn’t. “There’s no way he could be,” he muttered. Lance, the one giving him horrifying nightmares? No way. That just wasn’t possible. Nothing about Lance was evil, not like other ghosts had been in the past. “I can’t just leave him.”

“It’s not your duty to help him just because you can see him,” Shiro said. It was a rational thing to say, and Keith believed him, had repeated those words before, but…

_The only thing I can remember, completely, is you._

“I have to help him,” he muttered. He hadn’t seen Lance that morning, and while it was weird, it was something he couldn’t quite dwell on. One problem at a time. “He’s different, Shiro.”

“Alright,” Shiro hummed, but he didn’t sound like he believed Keith. After patting his back once, he nudged Keith towards the lockers. “Go get ready for the day, alright? Try to stay out of trouble.”

Keith nodded. Sounded easy enough, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I was working on Shance week and got really sick for a while, so I had to take a break from my chaptered stories ^^" Hopefully I can update more regularly now!


	13. The Danger That Keith Can't See

It took Keith a while to spot Lance that day. Or rather, it took Lance a while to show himself. Keith thought it was a little quiet without Lance peering over his shoulder, and although Lance wasn’t around to distract him, he still struggled to get his work done in a timely manner. 

It was well into the afternoon when Lance did appear. Keith was working in the cardiology department; the morning had been spent taking patient’s readings, but he’d been relieved of that duty after lunch and sent to the filing rooms. He didn’t exactly hate the quiet work, but he’d grown accustomed to Lance’s presence, so when he finally did appear, Keith was relieved. 

“Hey there, _niño bonito,”_ Lance said with an easy grin. “Miss me?”

“Yes,” Keith answered. “Where were you?”

A surprised look crossed Lance’s face. “Wait, you did?”

Keith gave him a puzzled look. “Is that a problem…?”

“Aw, Keith!” Lance exclaimed, as he threw his arms around Keith’s neck. “You’re getting sweet on me! Aren’t you just so precious?”

“I take it back, go away.”

“Keith,” Lance whined.

He snorted. Lance was so predictable, and it was fun to mess around with him, especially when he knew Lance would pout at him like he was. “Where were you this morning?” Keith asked again, as he set aside his paperwork. “You’re usually at the door.”

Lance folded his hands behind his head, and shrugged. “I was in the garden,” he said. “Time got away from me.”

“I thought you could tell the time in the garden.”

“I can, usually,” Lance said, “but I fell asleep.”

Keith frowned. Sleep and ghosts didn’t ever mix. “Did you dream about anything?” He asked casually. 

“I totally did!” Lance exclaimed. “Blue and Red were there, and you too! It was weird, I don’t remember much more than that, but dreams are always weird, aren’t they? I haven’t dreamed in ages.”

“I thought you couldn’t sleep,” Keith said. He was watching Lance’s face carefully, but Lance wasn’t affected by the question. “That’s what you said before.”

“Yeah, but I was really tired this morning,” Lance said. “I was up all night.”

“Were you? You remember that?”

Lance nodded. “Of course I do, I was looking at you all night.”

Keith’s face turned red. “W-what?”

“Not in a creepy way, or anything.” Lance was grinning again, a smile that tugged at his cheeks and showed off his teeth, like he was really proud of himself. His face was faintly red. “You just look very different when you sleep. You definitely don’t scowl as much!”

“I don’t scowl.”

“You’re scowling right now.”

Keith huffed, and turned his face away. He hadn’t been this embarrassed about something in a long time. “How did you get to my house last night?” 

Lance blinked, and looked puzzle for a moment. “I just… thought about you, and there I was. Is that bad?”

It was, but Keith shook his head. He didn’t know what that meant, but he assumed that it meant Lance was attached to him. He’d never heard of ghost’s shifting from attachment to attachment, let alone from their place of death to a person, and it frightened him. Lance was just so different from the ghosts he’d come across that it was astounding.

“You seem tense today,” Lance observed. “Is it because I was gone all day?”

Keith shrugged. He was tense for a lot of reasons, and that was only one. “Don’t you think it’s… strange, that you don’t remember anything?”

“I remember you.”

“That doesn’t count,” Keith frowned. “You remember me because I can see you.”

“I guess. I’ve never thought about it that way.”

Keith sighed. He felt like the conversation was going in circles, so after setting aside the remainder of his paperwork, he turned to face Lance. He was going to ask Lance more about his dream when the door to the room suddenly opened. 

“There are you,” Hunk said, as he spotted Keith. He had more folders in his hands. “These are from Yellow… are you alright? You look a little upset.”

Keith pursed his lips, and forced his shoulders to relax. He could see Lance out of the corner of his eyes, watching them. “I’m fine, just tired,” he said, as he folded his arms.

“Oh, didn’t you sleep well?”

“Not really…” He hated lying to Hunk. Sure, he’d had a nightmare, but the sleep he’d had after that was exceptionally good. That was because of Lance, wasn’t it? It seemed ridiculous that sleeping with a ghost could make him feel better, and yet it did. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Ah, yeah.” Hunk handed him the folders. “These belong to a patient whose files are registered in Red.”

Keith nodded. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for a patient to be treated in two different wards, mostly because the Galaxy Garrison’s divisions of the hospital didn’t quite match up with the way the hospital itself organised its wards, but it was strange that Hunk would bring him the file personally. “I’ll fix it up.”

He expected Hunk to leave after that, but he lingered. After a moment of hesitation, he murmured, “Pidge said something interesting the other day.”

It was hard for Keith not to tense up again. “Did he?”

Hunk nodded. He looked as uncomfortable as Keith felt. “He said you mentioned something about a patient called Lance…?”

At the sound of his name, Lance perked up. “Is he talking about me?”

“Did I?” Keith said airily. “There are a lot of patients I get to meet…”

Hunk hummed, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Lance is one of your patients, then?”

Keith nodded. It was another lie, and it made his chest hurt, but he couldn’t reveal the real Lance. They wouldn’t believe him, and would think he was crazy for talking about a dead person like they were real. It had happened before, and he knew it would eventually happen again. He’d spent so long trying to fit into their squad that he didn’t want to put it in jeopardy.

Hunk’s page vibrated. “I have to get back,” he said, “but I’ll see you later, okay? Try and get some rest, you look really tired.”

He nodded again. Hunk’s honest worry for his heath was like another nail in the coffin Keith was making for himself. He hated deceiving Hunk even more than he hated deceiving Pidge. It made something inside him twist in discomfort, and he struggled to put it aside, even when Hunk left the room.

“Why did you lie about me?” Lance asked.

Keith jumped, and wondered how he could have possibly forgotten Lance was there. “What do you mean?”

“You said Lance was your patient,” Lance said, “but you don’t have a patient called Lance, just me. You lied to your friend.”

Keith winced. “It’s… complicated.”

Lance frowned. “How complicated can it possibly be? You shouldn’t lie to your friend.”

“Lance, quit it,” Keith snapped. “Stop criticizing me when I clearly can’t tell him I’m talking to a gh- an invisible person. Don’t you think they’ll think I’m crazy if I tell them? I’ll be admitted to the god damned hospital.”

His words were harsh, but he was frustrated. The moralistic side of him wanted Lance to move on, just like all the other ghosts he’d helped had. That was what ghosts were meant to do, right? He knew they became more twisted and more dangerous the longer they stayed, and every moment he didn’t tell Lance that he was dead was selfish on Keith’s behalf. 

But something always stopped him from saying anything. It was like the words got caught in his throat, and no matter how much he knew it was the right thing to do, he just couldn’t. He didn’t _want_ to. He wanted to talk with Lance more, and have his company while he worked. Lance was his own little secret, was the first person – dead or otherwise – that Keith had ever connected to so fast. Was it really so bad of him to want to keep his friend for a little while longer?

Just thinking about it was aggravating. He’d never reacted to a ghost like this before, and it was distracting him in every part of his life. He had those awful dreams to worry about, and Lance’s ghostly abnormalities. Why was he worrying about having someone to talk to while he was _working_ when the boy was _dead?_ In hindsight, Keith kind of wished he’d never spoken to Lance in the first place.

 

His argument with Lance bothered him for the rest of the evening. He knew Shiro was looking for him, but he feigned tiredness before Shiro could drag him into a deeper conversation at the end of the day. It was hard enough chasing off Shiro’s concerned questions, let alone any questions about Lance.

Although he technically wasn’t meant to be working past his scheduled hours, Keith snuck into one of the empty offices and booted up a computer. He needed to know how Lance actually died to figure out how to get him to move on. At least, that was the excuse he used on himself as he logged into the patient records and brought up the system.

Try as he might, he just couldn’t remember Lance’s last name. Typing in _Lance_ brought up dozens of entries, and he had no idea where to start looking. The filing systems were kind of old, so it was a struggle trying to filter out people who probably weren’t Lance’s age. He knew ghosts sometimes didn’t appear as they had when they’d died, but Lance talked and acted just like people around Keith’s age. Because of that, he was pretty sure that Lance couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him, at the very most.

A weird feeling came over him as he started to filter out the people who definitely couldn’t be his Lance. He thought, for a moment, that maybe a ghost had entered the room, but when he looked around, he didn’t see anyone. There wasn’t anyone in the hallway either, so he shrugged off the weird feeling, and simply rubbed his arms to bring warmth back into them.

From the Lances he filtered out, only about a dozen or so remained in the age bracket he was looking for. He didn’t know what Lance could have died from, but he must have died here, so he searched for death records next. In all of the hospital’s history, only three of the Lances left on his list had died in one of the hospital’s wards.

The cold feeling got worse. This time, Keith couldn’t ignore it. He pulled away from the computer and glanced around the room again, but nothing was there. It was just as dark as it had been before, but suddenly the shadows felt like they were creeping in. His heart was starting to race, and he couldn’t get it to calm down, not even when he evened out his breathing.

There was no one there, but something told him someone was watching him.

Abruptly, the computer monitor starting flashing. Odd purple lines flashed across the screen like static as his breath started to fog in front of his mouth. He nearly jumped out of his skin as a high pitched screech left the screen before it suddenly turned black and powered down. Keith scuttled away from the computer, utterly frightened, and grabbed his things. 

Something was in the room. Something was in the room that he _couldn’t see._

He was running from the room before he’d even glanced back at the computer. Without meaning to, he crashed straight into someone.

“Keith?” Pidge let out a disgruntled noise, and barely stayed on his feet. “Why were you on a computer in there?”

“I wasn’t!” He snapped. He couldn’t look Pidge in the eye as he escaped from the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally written this chapter as the one where Keith finally tells Lance, but I thought it was too soon, so I've bumped it back a few chapters, hence the lateness of this one~ ^^" A lot of people have been guessing pretty closely about where the story is going, but I've got some things planned that no one's thought of yet, so I hope I can still surprise you!


	14. The Weight Of Something Sinister

_Keith’s leg was bouncing. He had his fingers curled over both of his knees, but that didn’t stop the insistent shaking. He was nervous, could feel an anxiousness thrumming through his veins as fast as a hummingbird beat its wings. If he listened closely enough, he swore he could hear those wings beating in his ears._

_He was in the hospital, waiting for someone. He didn’t quite remember how he had gotten there, or who he was waiting for, but he recognised the room. To him, the décor and the furniture had always seemed soft and unobtrusive, but now that he was the one experiencing it, it seemed dull and miserable. He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to get out._

_Why were they taking so long? He stood, and paced, but his legs felt slow and heavy, like there were weights chained to his ankles. He glanced down the hallway, but it stretched on and on and on, farer than his eyes could see. Was the person he was waiting for down there? He had to find out._

_The hallway was empty when he started walking down it. When he glanced at the doors, they had no handles, and there were no windows into the rooms. He thought the hallway would go on forever, but when he suddenly looked ahead of him, he’d reached the end._

_A sign above the single door ahead of him read “Blue Ward”. Confused, he read it twice, but it didn’t make any more sense the second time. He didn’t know what that meant. Something seemed… wrong about it, like he should know, but all traces of it in his memory were gone. His hand was shaking when he reached for the doorknob on the door beneath the sign._

_It opened with a rush of sharp wind. Keith braced himself against it, arms raised, and winced as a cold sensation slid across his skin. It unsettled him; felt out of place, like it wasn’t meant to be something that happened there… wherever “there” was. It made his skin prickle in the worst way possible. Still, he held his breath, and entered the adjoining hallway._

_It was one of the hallways that had windows running along each side, but there was no door at the other end. The window shutters were pulled open, but the light that came in was cold and bland, and felt almost artificial. He looked out of the left row and saw nothing but inky blackness, but the right side was different. He thought he recognised the street the windows overlooked, and the rows of tall trees that lined it, but he couldn’t remember from where he might have seen it before._

_He pressed closer to the window, and lifted a hand to touch the glass. It hardly felt like it was there._

_Suddenly, he noticed a boy standing beside the road. Although he was far away, Keith could see his blue eyes, and the pensive look on his face. He was looking at the stars in the sky, before his eyes drifted down to the road. When Keith followed his gaze, he saw that there was something there._

_It was a cat. Small and pitiful, it sat shivering in the middle of the road. Keith lurched, as if he could reach through the glass for it, and felt a swell of panic go through him. The boy was moving towards the cat, but he shouldn’t do that, he was going to get hurt, Keith had to get to him-_

_In a wave, the stars went out, like a light switch being shut off. A truck rumbled at the end of the street._

_Keith tried to shout, but his voice got caught in his throat. He wanted to bang on the window, but his limbs were suddenly frozen in place. His breath was abruptly starting to fog, and it was with a shaky inhale that he focused his eyes on the reflection in the window rather than through it._

_Something was behind him. It was a huge, towering mass of dark shadows interspersed by shifting, purple veins. It looked faintly human, but disfigured, and grotesquely proportioned. Keith suddenly felt its weight pressing down on him, and a scream choked him._

_Suddenly, the thing grabbed him by the shoulders. Its hands weren’t the same size, but its fingers still completely encompassed his shoulders, looping right around to dig sharp nails into his collarbones. It was so cold where it touched him that it burned._

_And then it pushed._

_Glass shattered as Keith was thrown through the window. For a moment they glinted like stars in the dull light, but then the world was spinning, and the ground disappeared out from beneath his feet._

_He was falling._

 

Keith jerked awake with a strangled scream. He fought against the weight pressing down on him, but he was tangled in his sheets, and he couldn’t see anything in the dark. His skin was drenched in sweat, and he could feel it sliding down his neck.

“Keith!”

Cold hands grabbed at his face, and turned his chin up. His eyes fluttered open almost against his will, and he came face-to-face with a pair of bright blue irises. Lance was hovering over the top of him, his face stricken as his hands cradled Keith’s chin. He looked almost as panicked as Keith felt.

“You’re awake,” Lance said breathlessly, as the worried pinch in his brow began to ease.

Keith was panting, and his chest as heaving. “L-Lance…” He sounded frightened, even to his own ears, and his voice cracked on the word.

Lance let out a surprised noise when Keith threw his arms around his shoulders, and almost fell face-first into the mattress. He didn’t hesitate to slip an arm under Keith, and run his cold fingers gently down Keith’s back. “You alright?” He whispered. “You seemed to be having a really tough nightmare there.”

“No,” Keith said pitifully. He pressed his face into the crook of Lance’s neck, and tried not to think too much about how he could feel Lance – real and solid – next to him. “I don’t remember it.”

“Again?”

He nodded, miserable. He felt like he was shaking, and anxiously clenched his fingers in Lance’s jacket. His heart was still racing, and no matter how many deep breathes he sucked in, he just couldn’t get it to even out. Something really bad must have been in that dream. The only lingering impression he had from it was one of fear. No nightmare, not even the ones he’d had in the last few weeks, had terrified him as much as that one had.

Carefully, Lance moved himself to lay beside Keith, and lightly rested his arm over Keith’s waist. “That one really scared you, huh?” He whispered. It didn’t sound like a question. “It took me ages to wake you up this time.”

“Why are you here?” Keith managed to choke out. “I thought you were angry with me.”

Lance hesitated, biting his lip, and then shrugged loosely. “I was angry, but… I felt like you were in danger, and I couldn’t stay away. Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Keith swallowed heavily. “No…”

“I won’t, then,” Lance said. It was uncomfortably quiet for a moment, and then he let out a deep exhale. “I’m glad I came.”

Keith nodded again. He didn’t know what else to do, or how to reply to that, but he was glad Lance had come as well. What would have happened to him if he hadn’t been woken from that nightmare? He didn’t know what had occurred in it, but whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t anything good. He never thought ghosts could hurt anyone, could possibly ever harm someone living in a physical way, but some instinct deep inside of him was telling him that he’d narrowly escaped being hurt. Really hurt.

“Are you alright?” Lance asked. He sounded concerned, and the worried furrow in his brow was starting to return. “You look a little pale.”

Keith didn’t feel alright. He felt like someone had grabbed him by the shoulders and shaken him until his bones rattled. Even when he was a child he hadn’t been this shaken up by a ghost nightmare. He’d never felt so threatened by something he couldn’t see before.

“Keith?” Lance tried again.

“I’m just tired,” Keith finally said, eyes downcast. He didn’t want to trouble Lance with his problems after already upsetting Lance once. Somehow, Lance’s presence comforted him, and he didn’t want to lose that, despite the fact that he didn’t know how Lance was getting to his house from the hospital. “I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“Okay,” Lance agreed. “Try to get some rest.”

Keith closed his eyes. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep peacefully for a week.

 

“You look like you were hit by a truck. Rough night?”

“Very funny, Shiro,” Keith muttered, his voice dry as he pulled on his white coat. He’d woken up alone, with a headache to rival all headaches, and still no memory of the nightmare he’d had. “Why are you looking at me light that?”

Shiro had a very noticeable frown on his face. He reached for the bottom of Keith’s shirt and pulled it up, despite Keith’s protests. “Keith, what happened to you?”

He flinched. He’d seen his chest when he’d showered, and it wasn’t a pretty sight – his shirt must have pulled up enough for Shiro to see. He was covered in blue bruises that stretched right around his waist and down over his side. Similar marks had been on his skin the first time Lance appeared in his apartment, but he hadn’t given them much thought. Now it was impossible to ignore.

Especially when the marks were where Lance had rested his arms.

To make matters even worse, he could feel that the place where Lance had grabbed his chin was irritated and dry, too, just like his skin had been before. Though the marks on his face had faded after a particularly hot shower, the ones on his chest stubbornly remained, and darkened. As real as Lance felt, he was cold, and it was becoming very evident that his touch could leave cold burns.

“Keith,” Shiro said again, in his no-nonsense voice, “what-?”

“What are those marks?”

Keith jumped as Hunk and Pidge entered the locker room, and hastily pulled his shirt down. It was Hunk who had spoken, and his eyes were wide with concern and fright. Pidge looked incredibly put off too, and their gazes made him shrink. Maybe he could have told Shiro that it was Lance giving him the bruises, but he couldn’t tell the others.

“It’s nothing,” Keith said, before Shiro could open his mouth. He could feel Shiro staring holes into the back of his head. “I just bruise easily, that’s all. I’m going to work.”

“Keith-” Hunk started, reaching out to touch Keith’s shoulder as Keith brushed by him.

He flinched as if he’d been stung. Hunk’s touch didn’t hurt, wasn’t rough, but something about it sent a spike of cold fear through him. He placed a hand over his shoulder as if he could stop the waves of uneasiness from spreading through him, but it didn’t help. That sensation was entirely new, and somehow he thought it might have been the nightmare’s fault.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his voice shaky. Hunk looked crestfallen, but Keith’s urge to escape overpowered any guilt he felt over causing such a look. “Sorry, Hunk, I just- I didn’t mean- I’ve got work to do.”

Tripping over his words wasn’t something he normally did, but he just couldn’t get anything out smoothly. Before Pidge could start to question him too he squeezed out of the room and walked briskly down the hallway. He hadn’t seen Lance yet that morning, but maybe he was in the garden…

Keith really needed to see him. He had to find the garden again.


	15. The Impenetrable Garden

He didn’t remember where it was. He flew up the stairs of the hospital in a panicked rush, knowing that the garden’s stairway had been on the upper level when he was taken to it before. When he tried to recall the shape or look of the hallway Lance had led him down, his mind drew nothing but blanks.

Where _was_ it?

Something tingled at the back of his mind, like a bad aftertaste. He turned down a hallway without thinking, and suddenly felt the air turn frigid. He shivered as it washed over his skin, and clenched his jaw. Cold temperatures always meant ghosts – just the thought of them made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. There was only one ghost he wanted to see, and he couldn’t find him.

Anxiously, he rubbed his arms to try and bring warmth back into them. His skin had turned cold, and his breath was fogging. He knew something was watching him, could _feel_ it, feel eyes watching his every move. The only problem was that he couldn’t see anything. The hallway was empty, and not even the adjoining rooms seemed to have patients in them.

It was haunting.

Distracted, Keith glanced around. There was no one around, not even a ghost. What was he doing again? It felt so cold that he couldn’t concentrate, and he was so distracted that he stumbled over his own feet. Something was watching him, something that he should be afraid of. Where was it? _What_ was it? 

He clutched his head as he was struck with pain. It felt like his brain had turned to flashing static, and no matter how many times he shook his head, the feeling didn’t go away. It was like his feet had been swept out from under him, and he banged against a wall he hadn’t realised had been there. “L-Lance…!”

Something appeared at the end of the hallway. Keith’s eyes wouldn’t focus on it, but it looked vaguely human, with misshaped shoulders and hands that weren’t the same size. It was nothing more than a dark, shifting shape, but it struck some instinctual fear in him that was completely overwhelming. He impulsively tried to lurch away, but his feet were frozen to the ground, and he couldn’t move. 

And then hands grabbed him from behind, and he was suddenly pulled back. The world tipped around his eyes, and then he felt like he was falling. His breath got stuck in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut. He waited to hit something, to be hurt by something, but the pain never came.

“Keith!”

He sucked in a harsh breath as his eyes snapped open. He knew that voice. “Lance?”

“What was that thing?” Lance said. He was panting; Keith could feel the way his chest rose and fell, pressed against Keith’s back. His fingers were still curled around Keith’s arms, and their legs were tangled together. Keith didn’t know how they’d ended up on the floor.

“You could see it?” Keith said, as he desperately grabbed a fistful of Lance’s jacket. “You saw that thing?”

Lance’s eyelashes flustered, surprised by Keith’s fervency. “I did,” he said with a nod, “but what the hell was it?”

Keith didn’t know. He really didn’t. He’d _never_ seen anything like that, never come across anything that exuded danger from every angle. It must have been a ghost, mustn’t it? But he’d never seen a ghost like that, never seen anything so mangled and obscure. He couldn’t remember ever seeing it before, but his heart was racing as if he had, and he felt like he was shaking. No, he was shaking – his fingers were trembling, and he felt weak at the knees.

“I don’t know,” he finally said.

“You’re shaking.” Lance tightened his fingers around Keith’s arms, and hauled him upright. “Was that the thing you’re dreaming about?”

He didn’t answer. He was too far into his own head to hear Lance’s voice.

“Keith.”

Could Lance see other ghosts now? Did that mean he’d realise he was dead? That couldn’t happen. Keith didn’t know what would happen to Lance if he realised that he was dead. What if he moved on, or disappeared? Would he hate Keith for keeping it a secret?

“Keith, look at me.”

A hand grabbed his chin and turned his head to the side. Keith’s eyes widened as they found Lance’s, and he couldn’t help but swallow heavily. “What?”

“You’re shaking,” Lance said again. He set Keith down on the same wooden bench they’d sat down on before, and took a seat next to him. “You’re really frightened.”

Keith flinched. He wasn’t the type of person to get afraid over something like this, wasn’t the type of person to get shaken. He’d seen dozens of ghosts, witnessed dozens of frightening things, but he’d never reacted like this. Sure, this ghost was unlike any other he’d ever seen, but that didn’t feel like the reason it was so terrifying. Had it been in one of his strange dreams? He just couldn’t remember.

“Hey, don’t look so scared,” Lance said. Unexpectedly, he put his arms around Keith and drew him close, almost as if he didn’t quite realise what he was doing. “Nothing can get to you here, so don’t worry.”

Keith stiffened, but something about Lance’s touch had the tenseness in his muscles bleeding away. He felt his eyes go hazy, and pressed his nose in the crook of Lance’s neck. Lance’s skin was cold, and his hand on the back of Keith’s neck was just as chilly, but it was oddly grounding. It was simple to focus on those cold points of contact, and slowly but surely, his fear began to ease.

“You called out to me before,” Lance said quietly. “I heard you.”

Keith didn’t want to admit it, but he had been terrified when he’d called out for Lance. He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t expected Lance to respond, either.

They were in the garden now. It was exactly like he remembered it had been. Keith had no idea how he’d found it, or if Lance was the access key, but this place felt safe. It was like Lance had said – he fully believed that nothing frightening could have gotten in. 

The garden felt like a safe haven.

Lance sucked in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. “What was that thing?” He whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“A ghost, maybe,” Keith muttered. He shut his eyes, and turned his face against Lance’s neck, wanting more cold pressure against his cheeks.

“A ghost? They’re real?”

_Don’t ask me that. Please, don’t._

“Lance, I’m scared of that thing,” Keith said. He hated distracting Lance in such an underhanded way, but he was desperate to avoid the subject of ghosts, and it was the only thing he could think of to do. “What if it comes back?”

“It won’t,” Lance said. He rubbed his fingers over the back of Keith’s neck, just lightly, to comfort him. “I told you not to worry, didn’t I? I’ll make sure it doesn’t get into your dreams.”

Keith let out a shaky noise. He didn’t think anything could stop the dreams, but Lance had already proven that he could wake Keith up from them. 

A comfortable silence settled over them. Keith almost felt like he could have slept if he hadn’t been so riled up by the ghost he’d seen in that hallway. He still didn’t know what it was about Lance that drew him in, but whatever it was, it was addicting. Some part of him wanted to say it was Lance’s personality, but another part reminded him that Lance was a ghost, and ghosts were only led by one dominant emotion. He hadn’t figured out what was driving Lance, but he thought that at least that rule was one that Lance wasn’t an exception to.

Keith closed his eyes again. Lance had saved him, hadn’t he? Not for the first time, either. What if Lance hadn’t been there? Keith didn’t want to think about it.

But he was surprised that Lance had heard Keith cry out for him. Had that been what prompted Lance to save him? Had it alerted Lance to his trouble? Maybe both. He couldn’t understand how Lance had found him so quickly, how Lance had somehow dragged him back to this garden. 

“Did you sleep well last night?” Lance eventually asked. “You still seem tired.”

Keith shook his head. He’d slept fine after Lance had arrived, albeit a little rockily at first, but any sleep he’d had before that dream had been tumultuous at best. There was no way he could continue to function on such little rest.

“I was surprised you came to find me this morning,” Lance continued. “Don’t you have work?”

Keith cringed. “I do, but…”

“Did something happen?”

“I… guess so,” he admitted. “My friends are just…. asking questions I don’t want to answer. I don’t like lying, but I can’t tell them.”

“Why not?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Keith murmured. “But I can’t tell them.”

Lance hummed. His fingers were still rubbing circles onto the back of Keith’s neck through his hair. “You’re quite a secretive person.”

“I’ve never really had anyone to tell my secrets to.”

“So you haven’t known Pidge and Hunk for long?”

“Yeah,” Keith said. “We were assigned as a group only a couple of months before coming to work at the hospital.”

“They seem to like you well enough.”

“I hope so.”

Lance’s questions were a good distraction, and soon enough all the anxieties in Keith had left. While Keith knew he couldn’t hide away in Lance’s garden forever, but it would it be bad if he stayed for a little while? Before, time hadn’t passed at all on the outside. Maybe it would be the same this time.

Keith knew he needed to lay low for a little while, at least until Pidge and Hunk forgot about this mess. If he could cover the marks Lance gave him and avoid mentioning Lance at all around them, even indirectly, then they should forget all about it. 

“Keith?”

He hummed.

“You seem tired there, buddy.”

“Mmm.”

“Are you going to sleep?”

“Is that a problem?”

Lance spluttered for a moment. “N-no, it’s fine! Go ahead. I’ll just… sit here.”

Keith thought he sounded nervous, and it made him smile a little. It was reassuring to think he wasn’t the only one always feeling ruffled. “You do that,” he said.

Lance huffed out a breath. Keith could feel it cold against the top of his head. He muttered something that Keith didn’t quite catch, and as a feeling of rest washed over him, cold lips pressed against his forehead. He didn’t sleep, and his eyes weren’t completely closed, but he felt mindless, so much so that it felt like nothing more than a dream.

 

_The phone was ringing again. When he reached across the arm of the sofa to grab it, he almost dropped it. His hands weren’t quite big enough to grip it properly. “Hello?” He said as he clumsily pressed it to his ear._

_“Keith, honey, it’s Mother.”_

_He blinked slowly, and settled against the couch. “Are you coming home late again?”_

_“Maybe, honey. You can take care of yourself.” She paused. “But that’s not what I’m calling about. I’ve got some bad news.”_

_He wanted his parents to come home again, wanted Shiro to come home. He wanted to play like the other children did, but he wasn’t allowed to, so he waited to hear what his mother wanted to say._

_“It’s about Shiro.”_

_Shiro had just been here, had been like the old lady who no longer lived next door to them, and the old man from down the street, and the kid with the bruises around his neck. But Shiro had disappeared._

_“I’m sorry Keith… Shiro has been badly hurt.”_

_But he already knew that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I knew this chapter wouldn't be as action-packed as precious ones, mostly because I wanted to enforce their bond (think of it as the calm before the storm) so it took a little while longer than I'd hoped to write. Hopefully the next chapter will be more interesting!


	16. The Disappearance Of The Ghosts

The longer Keith remained in the mysterious garden, the more his mind began to stray. Soon his thoughts turned to mush, and his skin became warm. A dreary haze settled over him, one in which even blinking seemed like too much of an effort and was done slowly and deliberately. 

Lance’s hands on his back weren’t helping the matter at all. Keith had never particularly thought that Lance had big or noteworthy hands, but with them pressed against his back like they were, maybe his perception was changing a little. His skin was soft, despite a few callouses, and his fingers were long. There wasn’t much meat on him, but Lance more than made up for it with size and strength. 

Maybe he should be going back to work, but every time he thought about it, his mind would go blank.

“Keith?”

He hummed, and closed his eyes languidly. It felt like a waste to open them, but he did anyway. “What is it?”

Lance pressed his fingers a little too close to Keith’s side, making him jolt and shiver. “You can’t stay here forever,” Lance told him. His voice was soft, but his tone was firm, enough so that Keith realised he had to listen. 

“Why not?” Keith said. He didn’t feel hungry, didn’t feel particularly tired, and didn’t feel lonely. He felt like he could stay in the garden forever and never feel the desire to leave.

“I’ve just got a bad feeling,” Lance admitted, “like you’re not meant to be here for too long. Like I’m being selfish if I make you stay.”

That didn’t make any sense. An instinctual part of Keith flinched at the idea of leaving, and a strange feeling of anger rippled through him. It was small, but it was enough to spark something bigger that he didn’t quite understand. “I don’t want to leave,” he insisted.

Lance winced, but turned his face to hide it. He lifted his hand to the back of Keith’s neck to soothe him, and repressed a sigh. “I know, but I can’t shake this feeling, okay? I’ve been thinking it for a while. Just listen to me this time.”

He wanted to. When Lance spoke in that tone, it was like Keith couldn’t help but comply. Maybe it was the garden with its compelling, hazy mist, or maybe it was something more ghostly, but Keith was nodding before he realised what he was doing. That small, angry feeling didn’t leave him, so it was with a lot of reluctance that he pushed away from Lance and sat upright.

He didn’t know what was so wrong about this place. It was safe, and warm. The little family of cats were dozing behind one of the potted plants again. Lance was around. He really could have stayed there forever.

“How do I get back?” Keith eventually asked. Even to his own ears he sounded lifeless, and it was that thought that started bringing him back to himself.

Lance stood. He wouldn’t look Keith in the eyes. “I’ll take you.”

 

He ended up back in one of the less used corridors on the highest floor. It wasn’t the one he remembered last being in, but he recognised it. 

He wondered if any time had passed while he was in the garden. He must have been in there for a while, right? It had felt like ages, but it wasn’t enough. Time hadn’t really felt like it had passed out here, so he pursed his lips and began to make his way back down to his ward. Where was he working again today? He couldn’t remember. Had Shiro even had a chance to tell him?

Come to think of it, did he even want to go back to Shiro and the others? He’d left them for a reason, hadn’t he? They were going to ask him questions, going to make him tell them about Lance. There was no way he could tell them, not without them thinking he was going crazy. After taking in a deep breath, he pressed his hand over his heart, and set his shoulders back. He had to stop complaining. There was work to be done, and patients that had to be tended to. No matter what, when he was at work, they had to be his first priority. 

When he reached the locker room, he was able to find his assignments for the day. Shiro wasn’t around, and Pidge and Hunk had likely already begun working. He just had to figure out how to avoid them, that’s all. It shouldn’t be so hard, not if he really tried. There was no reason they’d seek him out, anyway. 

Burying himself in work was easy. He was in cardiology for the morning, taking readings and monitoring machines. He didn’t have to talk much, and numbly listened to the doctor he was working with as time progressed. He felt like time was moving much slower than usual, however, and by the time his lunch break rolled around, he was utterly exhausted. His mind was starting to stray back to the garden again, and although he knew he wouldn’t be able to enter it without Lance, he _wanted_ to.

Even if that meant he was in it alone.

It was on his way out of the Red Ward and towards the cafeteria that something finally pulled him out of his head. Keith didn’t usually pay any attention to children in the hospital corridors, mostly because they were always attached to an adult or with a doctor. But the child who caught his eye was all alone, and she had a scared look on her face that was instantly noticeable.

“Hey there,” Keith said as gently as he could, as he wandered over to crouch down in front of the child. God, she couldn’t have been more than three years old. Who let a baby wander around all on their own? “Are you lost?”

The little girl startled, and looked up at him with big eyes. She had blue irises that complimented her soft-looking brown hair and tanned skin. In a way, she sort of reminded Keith of Lance. “I’m lost,” she whimpered.

“Well, Lost, I’m Keith,” he said. It was a stupid thing to say, but he was rewarded with a small giggle, so it was worth it. “How about we go find your parents, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. She shyly held her arms up, and surprised, Keith lifted her. 

“So what’s your actual name?” Keith asked, as he awkwardly settled her on his hip. He’d never been around children before.

“Polly,” she said.

“That’s a nice name.”

She gave him a bashful smile. “Thank you.”

“Alright, do you remember where you last saw your parents? Or where you’re meant to be?”

“There was a waiting room,” she said. “I had to wait for Mamá to come back and get me so I could visit my brother.”

“I see,” Keith nodded. There were dozens of waiting rooms in the hospital so that didn’t really help, but he could just take her to the nearest reception desk and have one of the staff members there wait for her parents with her. “So you’re visiting your brother? Is that why you’re at the hospital today?”

“Yeah,” Polly said. “Mamá said that he’s getting better now, but I’m not allowed to see him much.”

That sounded odd, but Keith didn’t question it. He doubted he would ever be able to understand a child’s thought process, anyway. “What’s his name?”

“Lion!” Polly exclaimed with a sweet laugh.

“Lion?”

“Mm!” She nodded her head, and pressed her hands together like she wanted to clap. “He calls me his kitten.”

Keith smiled a little. “He sounds like a nice brother.”

“He is!” Polly said, nodding fervently. “He really is! He always plays with me, even when my other brothers and sisters don’t want to. A-and he reads me stories! Lots and lots, even when he’s tired. He’s really smart.”

“Sounds lovely. I hope he gets better soon so you can play together again.”

Polly nodded. “Me too. I miss him.”

She was a cute kid. Keith somewhat reluctantly left her at an information desk, where a nice receptionist promised to look after her until her parents found her. Keith knew he’d never see Polly again, but his curiosity was piqued. The little story of hers about her Lion was oddly charming.

Afterwards, Keith didn’t feel much like eating, so he turned back towards the Red Ward. He had an afternoon of filing paperwork ahead of him, so he might as well get a head start. 

It was as he was walking back towards the ward that something started to set off his senses. There was no way to describe the weird feelings he sometimes got when it came to ghosts, but this… didn’t feel like one of them. He felt watched, but not overly so, and the corridor was oddly quiet. He glanced around, and saw patients in their rooms, doctors rushing between corridors, people wandering about outside when he passed an exterior window. It was all so normal.

He wasn’t used to normal.

Thoughts whirled in his head. When had he last seen a ghost, aside from Lance? It had been more than a few days, at the very least. A week? That didn’t make any sense. Hospitals were always crawling with ghosts, were always overpopulated and crowded with dead people. Keith had seen dozens around every corner, but now he struggled to even find one. 

All of the ghosts were gone.

How could they be _gone?_ Ghosts didn’t just disappear, not en masse. An incredibly unsettled feeling ran through him, one he couldn’t shake. Deep down he knew that ghosts couldn’t just leave like they seemingly had. That sort of change wasn’t possible, not for ghosts who had locational attachments and singular, driving emotions. They didn’t just _leave._

That meant he must be the changed factor.

What if… what if he couldn’t see ghosts anymore? Was it because he went to the garden again? 

Would he even be able to see Lance again?

A tight feeling clawed its way up his throat. He collapsed against a wall, and pressed a hand over his chest. It was like he couldn’t breathe. How was it possible that he just suddenly couldn’t see ghosts anymore? It was something that he’d always had, and even though he didn’t like it, it was a part of him. Wasn’t it?

“Keith?”

He jumped at the sound of his name, and tried not to shy away from Hunk as his friend approached. He couldn’t meet Hunk’s eyes.

“Are you alright?” Hunk said. He put his hands on Keith’s arms to steady him back on his feet, a concerned frown furrowing his brow. “You look pale.”

“Just tired,” Keith managed to choke out.

Hunk clearly wasn’t convinced. “You’ve been acting strange ever since we started working here,” Hunk said. It sounded accusatory – as accusatory as Hunk could be. “Why aren’t you… aren’t you being _nice_ anymore? I feel like I don’t know you at all.”

Keith’s face dropped. That tight feeling in his throat began to worsen, and his eyes started to burn. He couldn’t ever remember feeling the way he was now, couldn’t ever recall a time he’d felt so out of control of his own body. He pressed a hand to his face and tried not to sink to the floor. Air was only getting to his lungs in shuddering huffs, no matter how hard he tried to control it. Not even the nightmares left him feeling like this.

“Keith? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

He felt like it too. Not even leaning against the wall was helping the shakiness in his knees. He hardly felt Hunk’s arm go around his waist, holding him up. Could hardly feel the warmth of his friend beside him. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

The quiet was suddenly terrifying.


	17. The Man With The Misshapen Prosthetic

Keith woke in one of the private hospital rooms. For a moment his head spun, leaving him disorientated and groaning. When he could manage to open his eyes, he found himself alone. The curtains were drawn, and the lights were off. It couldn’t have been any more than late afternoon, but the dark room made it feel much later.

He stood. His legs felt shaky, and he had to hold onto the side of the bed to keep himself upright. When he went for the door, it was unlocked, so he opened it. The adjoining hallway was empty. Some part of him expected to find Shiro or even Hunk waiting for him, but there was no one. Not even a nurse or patient wandered the halls.

He exited the room, and shut the door behind him. He was still wearing his clothes and his work coat, but his shoes were gone. Maybe Shiro had taken them off for him, but he hadn’t seen them in the room.

As he neared the end of the corridor, voices reached his ears. They were muffled, and he couldn’t quite make out the words they were saying, but the distinction in their tone of voice was unmistakable. One person was not happy. Something in that person’s voice made his stomach churn in a very unpleasant way. It seemed… familiar, but a name wouldn’t come to mind, no matter how hard he thought. 

He rounded the corner, and saw a room before him. It looked like any other office, with viewing windows and plain, white walls typical of the hospital, but it felt… different. He edged closer, and tested the doorknob, but it didn’t budge, so he moved to the window instead.

It was with a shocked feeling that he realised Lance was in there.

He looked different. Keith could only see him from the side, but he didn’t look as… dead. His skin had a solid glow to it, and his hair was thicker. He was frowning, and had a furrow in his brows. His arms were folded stiffly over his chest, but as Keith watched him, he unfolded them, and made aggravated gestures.

“Lance,” Keith said, as he pressed his hand against the glass of the viewing window. It was like no one in the room could see or hear him.

He turned his attention away from Lance. There were other people in the room, but he couldn’t quite see their faces, as though they were covered in mist. But he recognised their uniforms, and the sight of them made his throat tighten. It was the Garrison uniform, one he’d buttoned up countless times himself. He felt chilled just looking at them.

What were Garrison officers doing in the hospital? 

But that wasn’t where his eyes lingered. It was the person Lance was arguing with, but he had his back turned to Keith, and Keith couldn’t see his face. The man wasn’t wearing a Garrison uniform, but he was wearing dark, stiff clothes, ones that did seem familiar on some level. He was very tall and very broad, practically bulging with muscles and mass. The sheer size of him was astonishing, but there was something more than that. It was his left arm that Keith was chillingly fixated on.

It was huge. Misshapen. His shoulder almost seemed to burst through the seams of his jacket. Keith had seen shapes like that long enough to know it was a prosthetic, but a badly sized one, and one that didn’t fit the man’s body. Maybe he’d outgrown it, or maybe it hadn’t been surgically attached properly, but something wasn’t _right_ with it.

“L-Lance,” he said, louder this time, as he banged his palm against the window. It made a sound, but no one noticed. 

An angry look passed over Lance’s face. Keith had never seen anything like it on the ghost before. Lance abruptly threw out his arm, and his mouth opened with angry shouts that Keith still couldn’t quite make out. The ferocity in his gaze was…

Frightening.

The Garrison cadets shifted, one by one, like soldiers falling into line. Lance’s words were convincing them of something, Keith could clearly see that, and the man with the prosthetic was losing whatever argument they were having. His shoulders were tensing, his back straightening, like his sheer size could overpower the words Lance was shouting at him. Keith felt strained just watching the conversation, like he was a rubber band being stretched too far.

Slowly, he backed away from the window, and glanced around. The hallway suddenly didn’t feel so average anymore. Its emptiness was pressing, made him feel trapped and claustrophobic. It was like the walls were closing in on him, slowly getting tighter and tighter until he had nowhere to run.

He rounded to face the room again, his heart in his throat. When he looked at it, looked at it _properly,_ it was not a room from the hospital. The walls were still white, and there was still a desk and chair, but it was a room from someplace else. Someplace Keith was deeply familiar with.

The Garrison.

Why would an office from the Garrison be in the hospital? Why was Lance there, arguing with someone who clearly outranked him? Why could they _see_ Lance?

Keith stepped away from the window. This had to be a dream, right? It had to be.

But it felt _real._ He could feel the cold floor beneath his feet, and the foggy glass that had been beneath his palm. Not only that, but he could _remember_ Lance – his name, his face. Keith could recall everything he could when he was lucid.

So what was the real reality?

He swallowed heavily, and backed away from the glass. Something about that argument Lance was having with the man didn’t feel safe. Keith hadn’t heard a word of it, but he knew Lance had won it by the skin of his teeth, and maybe he shouldn’t have. Keith could only see the man’s back, but his tense stance combined with his misshapen prosthetic and incredible size made him _dangerous._

And then suddenly he turned around.

Keith’s stomach dropped through his toes. He knew he should wait to see the man’s face, to see anything other than his left arm to identify him, but he was terrified. He’d never felt a fear so chilling, and before he knew it, he’d bolted. The hallways remained disturbingly empty as he rushed back towards the room he’d woken in. 

The room was as he’d left it, but now his shoes were beside the bed, where he _knew_ they hadn’t been before. Still, he put them out of his mind, and hurriedly pulled the door shut behind him. He didn’t feel like he’d been chased, but just the idea of it sent unpleasant shivers down his spine.

He slipped back into the bed. His shoes were left on the floor. Instead, he pulled the sheet over his lap, like it could protect him from the things he was scared of. It was deafeningly quiet.

A sudden knock on the door had his heart jumping into his throat.

“Keith?”

All the air rushed out of his lungs in one big breath. “Shiro?” He croaked.

Slowly, the door was pushed open, and Shiro peeked in. He was still dressed in his work uniform, and looked exactly as Keith remembered him. “You’re awake,” Shiro said. “How are you feeling?”

Words died on Keith’s tongue quicker than he could keep up with. Had… had that ordeal been a dream, or not? Keith couldn’t see the line where reality and the abnormal was drawn anymore. “I’m fine,” he eventually murmured, eyes fixed to the side. He was not fine.

Shiro shut the door behind him as he entered the room. There was a frown on his face, but he didn’t say anything until after he’d pressed his hand to Keith’s forehead, and turned his face side to side sceptically. “You’ve got a little more colour to you now,” he said, as he drew his hand back. “You fainted.”

“I figured.”

Shiro sighed. “You should have told me if you were too exhausted to work,” he said quietly. “You were completely dehydrated, not to even mention how much fatigue you must be experiencing. Your health is important Keith, and if you can’t do your clerkship here because of your… sight, then tell me. I can get you moved somewhere where they’ll be less of them.”

“Them” meant ghosts, and while Shiro’s intentions were nothing less than caring, Keith was abruptly reminded that he couldn’t see the ghosts here anymore. “I’m fine,” Keith said again.

Evidently, Shiro didn’t believe him. The look on his face said everything. “Your fever has gone down now that you’ve had some rest, but I still want you to take it easy,” he said. The way he spoke was mechanical, and it made Keith wince. It meant he’d done something wrong.

“You really sound like a doctor, now,” he said. He tried to sound amused, but his voice was flat.

“Keith,” Shiro sighed, “I know you want to do this all on your own, but you can’t. Even I can tell that something is really wrong here.”

Keith didn’t reply.

“Why won’t you tell me anything?” Shiro asked. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, and stared down at his hands. “You used to tell me everything. I feel like I hardly know you anymore, like you’re slipping out farther than I can reach. How do I make you feel better, Keith? How do I make you feel safe?”

Something bitter lodged itself in Keith’s throat. Whenever his parents hadn’t been there, Shiro had. Whenever he’d needed someone, Shiro had come. Even when he’d grown up, when he’d turned into someone who pushed others away, Shiro had remained. Even in death Shiro had found his way to Keith.

Shiro reached out a hand and placed it over Keith’s. “You know you can trust me, Keith,” he said. “You know I’ll believe anything you say, even if it sounds impossible. But I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

Keith trembled. He felt like someone had taken his conviction and crumbled it, like it was made from nothing but paper. He didn’t want to deceive Shiro, didn’t want to repay him with dishonesty. But how could he put Shiro in danger? How could he make Shiro interact with a world he’d already escaped from once?

All those dreams of the time when Shiro died haunted him. Shiro knew he had died, knew Keith had seen him – Keith’s parents were more than upset when Keith had told them about it, but who wouldn’t be, if their child claimed to be visited by a boy they knew had died? However, Shiro remembered none of it. The time he spent as a ghost was completely obliterated from his mind, and to him, it had never happened. 

“I just…” Keith started, but his voice broke, and the words wouldn’t come. Shiro didn’t push him, didn’t act impatiently, and somehow that made Keith feel worse. Shiro had every right to be angry, but he wasn’t. Shamefully, he lifted a hand to cover his face, and was unsurprised when he found his eyes wet. “I don’t know what to do anymore…”

Shiro remained quiet as he pulled Keith close, but Keith could feel the way his fingers shook when he pressed them against the back of Keith’s head. He didn’t know how much his pain affected Shiro, but in that moment, it was very clear. 

“Please,” Shiro whispered, “please, Keith, just tell me what happened.”

He didn’t.

 

Keith didn’t dream that night. He didn’t sleep, or eat, either. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than sit upright in bed. His thoughts spun, but they were flimsy, and he couldn’t grasp them. It was impossible to put two ends together.

Some part of him wondered if Lance would show up.

He didn’t.

 

With the weekend approaching, Keith found himself feeling relieved. The weekend meant no work, and no work meant he didn’t have to go back to the hospital. Even if that meant he couldn’t see Lance, Keith was selfishly relieved. Time away from that place was starting to feel few and far between. 

Shiro called a few times. Feeling guilty, Keith answered. Their conversations weren’t much, but it was all Keith could offer. He refused to talk about ghosts anymore, and he didn’t tell Shiro about his not-dream, if it could even be called that. It still haunted him; every time he closed his eyes, the silhouette of that man burst behind his eyelids, like the dancing lights left after one stared at the sun for too long. 

It was late on Sunday evening that Keith answered a call that wasn’t from Shiro. He’d become accustomed to Shiro attention, so when a different voice answered, he was taken aback.

“Hello, honey.”

“Mother?”

“Why do you sound surprised?”

He bit back a sharp retort. Speaking to his parents made him feel like he was walking on a tightrope, and he wasn’t in a good mind frame to be playing their games. His parents hadn’t called to speak with him in more than six months, though for them, that time was laughably short. “I am surprised,” he finally murmured. “Has something happened?”

“Why do you assume the worst?”

He pursed his lips, and lowered his head. She hadn’t spoken to him for more than a handful of moments and he already felt like he’d stepped out of bounds. It was as infuriating as it was frustrating.

“Your father and I have decided to come visit you,” she said after a tense moment in which only Keith felt uncomfortable. “We’re returning to the country for a short time.”

“You’re returning? Why?”

“Is that any way to speak to your mother? You should be happy.”

He could almost hear the frown in her voice. The worst part of it all was that some small, childish part of him that was happy to hear of their return. It had been almost an entire year since he’d last saw them, and every time they came to see him, he couldn’t help but want for them to notice how much he’d grown. Was that wrong of him?

“When will you be arriving?” He murmured. 

“This week. Is it alright if we visit you at work? You certainly can’t take a day off, and we’re very busy…”

It wasn’t alright, but he made an affirmative noise anyway. He could always try and see them on his lunch break, couldn’t he?

“We’ll see you this week, before we leave again,” she said. “Be good now, Keith. I look forward to seeing you again.”

He made the same noise again, but the dial tone had already begun. He lowered his phone, and let it rest limply in his lap.

He could do nothing but stare listlessly at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I got the word count for these chapters mixed up with a different story of mine, so now it's an extra 500 words... I was going to just take out the last scene, but it feels important, so I left it :') the fact that this chapter is longer than the other ones bothers me so much ahh but I think I might have a way to fix it later on~ ^^"


	18. The Sting Of Disappointment

“My parents are coming to visit.”

The noise Shiro made clearly indicated his disapproval. He didn’t exactly dislike Keith’s parents, but their relationship had turned somewhat sour after his accident. Keith wasn’t exactly sure why, because he’d been so young back then, but he had a feeling it had something to do with him.

“When will they be here?” Shiro asked, as he buttoned up his white coat. He wasn’t looking at Keith.

“Sometime this week,” Keith said. “They didn’t tell me exactly when.”

Shiro made that noise again. That low, sort of disapproving one. It made something uncomfortable twist in Keith’s stomach. “Are they coming for dinner?”

Keith wasn’t exactly sure why Shiro was asking about them. Maybe because he wanted to be there, or maybe because he didn’t want _Keith_ to be there. It was hard to tell. “No,” Keith said carefully, “they don’t… have time for that. They’ll drop by work on my lunch break.”

Shiro turned his face away. It was probably to hide his expression. “Well, if you want to see them, then it’s fine,” he said, “but don’t let them interfere with your work. You already have enough on your mind.”

Keith winced. The reminder was sharp and unwelcome, and he saw Shiro cringe as soon as the words left his mouth, but he didn’t take them back. What was said was said, and Keith reluctantly let it go. He knew Shiro didn’t mean anything cruel by it. He just didn’t approve of the way Keith’s parents had treated him when he was a child.

“I won’t slack off,” Keith muttered. “Don’t worry.”

A long sigh escaped him as Shiro finally turned to face Keith. “But I do worry,” he said, as he put a hand on Keith’s shoulder to keep him from escaping. “I always worry about you, Keith. You always do so much on your own, and I _know_ you don’t like relying on others with… with what you can see, but I just… I really wish you would trust me with that.”

Keith could hardly hear him over the noise of his heart racing. He knew he’d disappointed Shiro the moment Shiro opened his mouth, and it left him feeling horrid. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Shiro,” he said, as he met Shiro’s eyes. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Keith-”

“I do,” Keith interrupted. “I do worry about you. You already died once Shiro. _Died._ I don’t think you can come back a second time.”

Shiro’s eyes flickered. “It doesn’t matter how many times I get hurt,” he said. “I won’t leave you alone again.”

Keith wanted to believe Shiro. When he had been younger, he had believed that every word Shiro spoke was nothing but the truth. It was only as he grew older that he started to understand what little white lies were, and how sometimes believing in something enough for it to seem real didn’t always make it the truth. Shiro’s ever strong determination to stay by Keith was one of those things.

And even though he knew that, he still desperately, childishly wanted to believe in it. 

 

A day went by without a single ghost appearing. Keith stubbornly refused to think that he just couldn’t see them anymore. He’d always been able to see them, so why would that suddenly change? To him, the answer was simple: it wouldn’t. There had to be something else messing with the ghosts in the hospital.

A second day was much the same. Feeling oddly lonely, Keith had even returned to the cafeteria to eat, though that only seemed to make his loneliness more pronounced. He’d become far too used to Lance’s presence, and spent his entire break either glancing around for Lance or watching over his shoulder for his parents. They hadn’t arrived yet, but just knowing for certain they would appear set him on edge. It was like they were already there, hovering just behind him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He didn’t want to disappoint them.

Come the middle of the week, and Keith was starting to feel anxious. He tried not to let it affect his work, but the doctors were all too aware of his shaky hands, and Shiro had been wearing a pursed look on his face all day. Keith tried not to let it get to him, but it did. It seemed only fitting that that was the day his parents came by.

He didn’t expect it. He’d spent the morning trying not to liken the blue eyes of his patients to Lance, and consequently had wasted the better half of his lunch break wandering the corridors looking for him or his mysterious garden. Neither had revealed themselves. 

It was Shiro who paged him about his parents’ arrival. Nervousness coiled in his stomach as he made his way back to the office, though that did not stop him. Shiro had taken his parents to the office, but he hadn’t left them, despite his averseness to their presence. It would have been impolite, and as much as he disliked Keith’s parents, he did try to treat them nicely.

“Mother,” Keith said, as he entered the room. His mother was standing by his father, her shoulders set. Both were dressed impeccably, as though they’d stepped straight out of a high-rise magazine shoot. In the pressing cleanliness of the hospital, they stood out; they were too formal, too straight-edged. To Keith, however, they were familiar.

“I’ll leave you be,” Shiro murmured, as he passed by Keith. He took a moment to put his hand on Keith’s back, and then he was gone. Keith didn’t know if he was relieved or upset to see Shiro leave.

Keith turned to face his parents, feeling small. “Mother, Father, it’s nice to see you again,” he said quietly. He stepped forwards, but unsure, he hesitated. A strange looked passed over his mother’s face, and she met him halfway, folding him into her arms. She’d worn the same perfume for years, and its warm scent was deeply familiar as he breathed it in. 

“How have you been?” She asked, as she passed him on to his father, who did that thing father’s did where they touched their son’s shoulder and it was as close to a hug as they were going to get. 

“I’ve been fine,” he said. “Tired,” he then corrected, before wincing. “Work is… stressful.”

His mother hummed. A tense silence swelled, but it passed as his mother let out a deep breath. Like they always did, she and Keith’s father began to tell Keith what they had been doing recently, and what their plans for the immediate future were. It went in one ear and out the next – they worked, wouldn’t be returning for a while, and might miss his birthday again. The news never changed.

He thought he might have felt worse if they didn’t tell him.

It was as they were speaking that Keith felt something cold begin to prickle at the back of his neck. As much as he wanted to listen to his father speak, however inconsequential the topic was, the sudden change in temperature distracted him. He glanced around, suddenly feeling more on edge than he had felt all week. 

“Keith, are you listening?” His mother asked, frowning.

He dragged his gaze back, and swallowed. “Sorry,” he said. He didn’t mean it. “I just… it’s nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed, just a fraction. “Don’t tell me you’re still carrying on with that nonsense,” she said, as her frown deepened. “I thought you’d grown out of that, Keith.”

“You are an adult now,” his father agreed. “You shouldn’t be playing games any longer.”

Except it wasn’t a game. Keith could definitely feel something, like someone was breathing down his neck, except when he spun around no one was there. “Sorry,” he said again, though he didn’t know who he was saying it to, or why. 

And then, out of nowhere, Lance appeared.

“Lance,” he said, his voice nothing but a breathless rush.

“Woah, w-what’s going on?” Lance whispered, as if he hadn’t been missing for who knows how long. “Are you alright? I feel… feel kind of funny.”

“Lance-” Keith reached out, but then as abruptly as Lance appeared, he was gone. Keith almost stumbled, but his mother’s fingers curling around his wrist stopped him.

“Enough, Keith,” she said, voice harsh. “These… _tricks_ of the mind, they have to stop. I didn’t come here so you could act like a child.”

They didn’t believe in what he could see. They never did. As much as he loved his parents, as much as he craved their approval and their love… maybe Shiro was right. It hurt more than he expected to think about.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as he drew away. The distance that suddenly opened up between them was crushing. “But there’s something I have to do; I have to go. I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait. The gap between updates won't be this long again ^^"
> 
> Also, I'd just like to mention something. I don't mind getting criticism on my works (despite the fact that I'm not particularly looking for it, as I write fanfiction for enjoyment purposes), but if you must offer it, at least make it constructive. I've had a lot of nitpicky, discouraging messages lately, and while it most certainly won't stop me from writing, it does become exhausting trying to explain myself over and over. Regardless, I still really hope you do enjoy reading what I write, and I'm very thankful for the support I receive ^^


	19. The Anguish Of Losing Someone

His mother’s fingers were around his wrist before he’d fully turned away from her. They were like an anchor preventing him from drifting away, and he recoiled at the feel of them. “Where are you going?” She said, her voice firm. “We only just arrived.”

Words got stuck in Keith’s throat. He had to find Lance before Lance disappeared again, had to find out what had happened to the other ghosts and why everything was becoming so crazy. But his parents wouldn’t accept that, wouldn’t believe in what he could see, in what he _knew_ was real. _Lance_ was real.

And Keith had to find him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “but I have to go. This isn’t a convenient time for me.” He pulled his hand free, and tried not to whisper an apology that threatened to pass his lips at the hurt look on his mother’s face. But what could he tell her? That there was a ghost he was afraid was hurt and that he didn’t want to lose him? That he was starting to see nothing and it was frightening him? That he wanted Lance back to normal?

An unforgiveable part of him wanted to say it.

“I’m sorry.” He wouldn’t say it again, not about this. He’d done enough apologising for ghosts in his life. 

Rain had begun to pour outside. Keith could hear it on the roof first, like the distant pitter-patter of feet, before he passed a window and saw it darkening the sky. Rain had always had a weird effect on ghosts, and even without them present, Keith thought that that strange quiet in the air had remained the same. It was suffocating.

“Lance,” he called, his voice shaky. There were people in the corridors – patients and visitors, mostly, who turned to give him a mix of startled and displeased looks. “Lance, where are you?”

He’d never openly asked for Lance before, never acknowledged him when other people were around. Doing just that had sweat starting to bead on his skin, and a strange flutter start to move through his heart. He should be ignoring the ghosts, should be acting normal, should be-

He swallowed heavily. Now was not the time to panic, not when he had something he needed to do. Even if- even if everyone _did_ think he was crazy, he knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t be; Lance was proof that he wasn’t. Dead people didn’t lie.

“Keith?”

He startled at the sound of his name, his heart jumping into his throat. “Shiro,” he said, “what are you doing here?”

A frown furrowed Shiro’s brows. He put his hand on Keith’s shoulder, and while it was a gesture he’d done dozens of times before, it felt exactly how his mother’s fingers around Keith’s wrist had felt. “What do you mean? I work here. Aren’t you meant to be with your parents?”

“I was with them,” Keith said. “But Shiro, that ghost came back.”

“Ghost? What do you mean ‘came back’?”

For a moment, Keith faltered. Had he not told Shiro that the ghosts were gone, that he couldn’t see them? No… no he hadn’t, he hadn’t told Shiro anything. He’d kept Shiro safe by keeping it to himself. With that thought in mind he pursed his lips away brushed Shiro’s hand off his shoulder. “It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s… ghost stuff. I can’t help them if I’m around my parents.”

Shiro looked suspicious, and it made Keith wince. “That’s never stopped you from spending all the time with your parents that you can,” he said. “What’s going on Keith?”

He couldn’t think of an answer, and panic swelled in him again. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Then, suddenly the window across the hall from them abruptly blew open. Keith stumbled back as wind howled through the hallway, bringing with it cold, sharp rain and a terrified voice.

“Keith! Keith, help me!”

“Lance!” He cried.

Shiro dived to force the window shut, and with his back turned, Keith fled. The hospital windows didn’t just fly open like that. They were all made from thick glass, and never even trembled when a storm rocked through the city. Was something outside?

_Lance._

Keith knew he wouldn’t be able to find the garden without Lance. He’d never been able to before, and he doubted that would have changed now. But the courtyard… People wouldn’t be out there during the storm, and all the windows facing the yard, even those from the Blue Ward, would be shut. Lance had taken him there before, it must be important.

So the courtyard was where he went. He brushed past doctors and patients alike, never letting his thoughts stray. He had to find Lance before something else did. 

He struggled against the wind to get the courtyard doors open. The rain battered him when he stumbled out into its midst, and then the doors were abruptly slammed shut behind him. He lifted his hands as he squinted against the onslaught. His clothes were drenched in moments, and the chill seeped straight through the fabric and into the skin, making him shiver.

“Lance!” He shouted. “Lance, where are you?”

“Keith!” Lance’s voice echoed like he was underwater, but his words were clear. “Keith, help me! Please!”

Keith clutched at his hand, groaning. He doubled over when the echoing became too much, and fruitlessly tried to shake away the pain. He fell to one knee and pressed his hands over his ears harder, ducking his head against the rain to clear his eyes. He couldn’t see much – hadn’t realised when the storm had grown to be so bad – but he just knew Lance was out here somewhere. He had to be. 

Suddenly, a dark shape surged over him. Keith jumped up, throwing out his arm wildly as he fell to the ground. His hands slipped on the wet concrete and his elbow banged against it as he tried to get up. Even as he jerked around, there was nothing there. 

“Lance?” He called again.

There was a hunched figure in the centre of the courtyard, the spot were all of the surrounding windows had a clear view. Keith recognised it immediately, had come to know the shape of Lance and the messy tousles of his hair with so much familiarity that it was no longer surprising. He pushed himself upright and lurched forwards, eager to get to him, but then something stopped him.

It was that ghost again, the one with the misshapen arm from his nightmares. He stopped in his tracks, feeling frozen in a way that wasn’t caused by the wind and rain. Chills ran down his spine, and fear shot through him like an electric shock. Even if the ghost wasn’t focusing on him, Keith was terrified by it. He’d never been one to let his fear control him, but this… this was _terrifying._

“Lance!” Keith shouted. He tried to go to Lance, but something kept him stuck where he was, helpless to do anything other than cower.

Lance cried out as the ghost swung its misshapen arm forwards. The heavy limb sliced through the air and swept a purple mark across Lance’s cheek like it was nothing. It was like a bruise spreading, but it appeared instantly, and it looked excruciating. Lance clutched his cheek as he stumbled backwards, his face scrunched up in pain. He was drenched from the rain, and swayed in the wind like he could be picked up and thrown around by it. 

That monster was going to kill him.

_But can a ghost be killed?_

Keith didn’t have time to think about it. He needed to save Lance, needed to get that thing away from him. Even if he was a ghost, he could obviously feel pain. He needed a weapon.

But what could he use? What’d work? He glanced around, and through the rain he spotted the garden beds. A branch would have to do. No longer frozen to the concrete, he stumbled his way through the storm to the garden bed, and reached up into one of the small trees. They were bending under the force of the wind and were not that tall, but prying a branch free seemed impossible. His fingers slipped against the wet bark, and he could feel it splintering the more he pulled.

With a grunt, he finally manager to yank it free, even if he was a few splinters heavier for it. The branch wasn’t sturdy, but it was all he had, and he’d already wasted too many precious seconds trying to pull it free. He wouldn’t waste any more hesitating.

The branch made an impact when he swung it against the ghost, but it wasn’t physical. It was like he’d hit water, but there was a thicker resistance, and only when the branch had swung its course did the strange tension disappear. The wispy smoke emanating off the ghost parted, and it stumbled forwards, so Keith knew his swing had hit it. With a horrifying, nail-scraping scream, the ghost disappeared, leaving nothing but a horrid smell and purple shadows in its wake.

Keith dropped the branch, panting. He hadn’t even seen the ghost’s face, hadn’t confronted it head on, but he felt exhausted. If he hadn’t been so tense, he would have fallen to the floor again.

“Keith,” Lance whimpered. He still had his hand over his face, but the purple mark had spread farther than his fingers could hide. He didn’t protest when Keith dropped to his knees to throw his arms around Lance’s neck.

“Where _were_ you?” Keith demanded, his eyes squeezed shut. Lance’s skin was impossibly cold against his, but he felt solid, and that was all that Keith needed. 

“What’s going on?” Lance said shakily. His face was pressed into Keith’s neck, his nose a point of cold so severe that Keith knew he would get a mark. “I don’t understand anything anymore…”

Keith bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. He couldn’t tell Lance that he was dead, he just couldn’t. “It’s fine,” he said instead, “you’re fine.”

Lance sniffled, and pulled away just far enough so that he could meet Keith’s eyes with his own bloodshot gaze. “But for how long?”

 

Keith sat in the rain until Lance disappeared. Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay with Lance for long, not with things how they were. Still, disappointment stung his heart, and he returned indoors with a mood as sodden as his clothes.

There was a little girl standing in the doorway. Keith almost didn’t see her, not until bright blue eyes peered up at him. He’d seen her before.

“Polly,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer. “Why are you wet?” She asked, as she shrunk into her shoulders. She was carrying a blue lion toy, and held it tightly under her chin. “Are you okay? You’re crying.”

“What? I’m not…” He pressed a hand against his face, and startled when he felt tears against his cold skin. “I’m…”

“Mamá said we have to say goodbye to my brother,” Polly whispered. “That’s why I’m here. I ran away.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” he said, but he sounded tired even to his own ears. 

“You shouldn’t be outside,” she said. She sounded tired as well. “But I wanted to be out there, too.”

And then she was crying. Big, childish tears dripped down her cheeks and sullied the toy’s fur. She looked so small and helpless that Keith felt something hot lodge in his throat. He dropped to his knees, just like he’d done for Lance, and enveloped the little girl into his arms. It didn’t matter that his clothes soaked through her jumper.

“I want my brother!” She hiccupped on her cries. “I don’t want to say goodbye!”

Keith closed his eyes, and held her tighter. “I know,” he whispered.

It seemed like they both had someone they didn’t want to lose.


	20. The Ghost That Can Kill Ghosts

He took Polly to the nearest reception desk, where someone would be able to find her mother or father and keep her safe. He had to carry her, his arms tucked under her legs, her cheek pressed against his neck. Her clothes were getting wet because of his, but she still clutched at him. She was crying. He thought he might have been, too.

But his eyes were painfully dry. 

Keith left his pager at the receptionist’s desk when no one was looking. It had been vibrating for the last half an hour, ever since he left his parents. His break was probably over by now, but he couldn’t return to work like this. He couldn’t let Shiro or Hunk or Pidge see him. He felt like something had completely drained him of energy, like he’d been turned upside down and shaken until everything he had left had fallen out. 

On one of the upper floors, he knew there were empty office rooms that weren’t often occupied. That’s where he went. In some vain, hopeless way he thought he was almost looking for Lance’s garden again, but that place felt like a lost dream now, one he’d never be able to conjure up. In the end he settled for the empty office, where he sat on the desk by the window and let the rain water drip from his hair the same way it dripped from the windowpane. 

He was shaking.

It wasn’t from the cold.

Something was after Lance. That- that _thing_ he saw, it wasn’t human. It couldn’t have ever been human. Could it? Every ghost he’d ever met had once been someone, had been a human with very human desires. It was why they became ghosts, because one singular part of them just couldn’t be let go of. That was what he’d always believed, always _known._ It was the truth, plain and simple. Even if deviations like Lance appeared, he had no doubt that that fact remained the same. He didn’t know what could have happened to that monster to make it become so twisted in the afterlife.

He glanced down at his hands. Still shaking. And blue.

He let out a deep breath. He was cold, but logically he knew that was from the rain, and from Lance. It was easy to see the way Lance’s solidity affected him. Even if the marks spreading across his skin looked just like bruises, they weren’t; they were physical markers of contact, and served to remind him of just how dead Lance was. Anyone who saw them would know that they weren’t normal bruises. Even if Lance wasn’t like the other ghosts Keith had met, the fact that he was still dead remained solid. It was unavoidable. 

Maybe that thing, whatever it was, had been what chased off the other ghosts. He didn’t know if ghosts could experience the sensation of fear, but that thing could inspire it like nothing else. It had to be the reason he could no longer see ghosts at the hospital. That didn’t explain why he couldn’t see _any_ ghosts, but he didn’t go anywhere other than the hospital in the first place.

What was he meant to do now? Lance was crying out for his help, and Keith couldn’t do anything for him. He wanted to help Lance, he wanted to do something that would make Lance feel good, but Lance was just a ghost. What part of him could Keith possibly have a lasting impact on? The living and the dead never crossed paths. 

And if they did, Keith had learned that nothing good could come of it.

 

Sleep evaded him that night. The day was blurred; he moved through work with a dreary slowness, and conversations merged into single trains of thought that he couldn’t recall without serious thought. The night was sharper, everything in focus, horrifically clear. 

The cold night breeze from the open window irritated his skin but the sheets on his bed were suffocatingly hot. He was tempted to go back to the hospital and try to find Lance, but the times that Lance had shown up at his house haunted him. He wanted to see Lance again, but Lance wasn’t a fixed object, and Keith had no way of finding him. He was terrorised by thoughts of that monster finding Lance when Keith wasn’t around to save him.

That thing could make ghosts disappear, could erase them. A ghost that could kill ghosts. Keith had never seen anything capable of that, never even thought it was possible. Ghosts moved on, or they stayed forever, stuck in a spot that meant something vital to them. To be able to remove that connection, a connection that defied death itself like it was nothing… 

He feared that soon enough, the monster would erase Lance, too.

 

_It was raining when he opened his eyes. Just a little, just enough to make his skin prickle with damp, but it struck him as… off. Usually in his dreams, the world was at a standstill, like someone had pressed a pause button so he could see exactly what the dream wanted him to see. Like it had been completely wiped of life and just a shell remained._

_He was standing on a road. It was a familiar one, lined with trees that had become water-drenched and an empty footpath. A memory tingled at the back of his mind, perhaps one of a previous dream, but it did not give forth anything more than the nostalgic feeling of dread sinking into his stomach. Something bad was going to happen, and he had no choice but to wait and see it._

_Water dripped into his eyes. The rain was falling abnormally evenly, like each drop was set up at a starting line and released at the perfect moment. He lifted a hand to wipe his eyes clear. When he blinked them open again, he suddenly found himself facing a girl._

_She was young, and had blue eyes rimmed with tears. Her chest was hiccupping with cries he couldn’t hear, and although the rain fell on her, her clothes and hair remained dry. She was so familiar that for a moment he couldn’t catch his breath, but like always, her name remained out of his reach. He tried to step forwards, to cross into the middle of the road and comfort her, but his feet wouldn’t move._

_“Why are you crying?” He asked._

_She didn’t hear him. He could hear his own voice, but the rest of the world couldn’t, like he was talking underwater. A feeling of dread washed through him._

_At the end of the street, a truck appeared. It wasn’t a normal truck, but one of the ones that the officers at the Garrison drove. Big and bulky, they were designed to cover even the rockiest of terrains and crush anything that stood before them. He’d seen those trucks destroy barricades and heard tales of how they survived running over hidden mines._

_The truck started rumbling as it suddenly come to life. He’d never seen one of them in his dreams before, that he was definitely sure of._

_“Hey, you need to move,” he said, forcing his voice to become louder as the truck started to stagger. She didn’t hear him. “Hey!”_

_Panic made his limbs shake. The truck was screeching closer and closer, like it didn’t even see the little girl in the middle of the road- or like it did see her, and it wouldn’t stop anyway. An icy hand clutched at his throat. It was going to hit her, it was going to hit her!_

_Without realising that his feet had come unstuck, he lurched forwards. He tripped over his own clumsy legs but jerked upright, racing towards the girl as the truck did the same. Her weight was impossibly solid as he yanked her up from the ground and dived out of the way. The truck’s wheels screeched against the wet road as it careened towards them, but Keith rolled out of its path just in time._

_It was trying to hit them._

_Gravel scraped against his face and stuck to his clothes as he clutched the little girl to his chest. Pain rattled down his spine and he couldn’t help but groan as the burns from the road stung at his skin. The little girl’s heart was racing, her entire body trembling with effort like a kitten left on its own. He held onto her tightly, and squinted against the rain. The truck had stopped but it was still rumbling, and as he stared at it, the wheels abruptly turned towards him. Keith ducked his head and squeezed his eyes shut, hunching over the prone body in his arms._

_The little girl screamed._

_But then she stopped. He sucked in a sharp breath as his arms closed around air. When he pushed himself upright, he found that the road had disappeared, and he was instead in a place that was frightfully familiar – the hospital courtyard._

_He stood very sluggishly. His limbs didn’t feel connected to his body, and it took a lot of effort to get them to cooperate. When he lifted his head, he felt his breath catch. The rain had slowed, like little crystals hanging in the air, but they moved fast enough for him to see that they were no longer falling down, but rising._

_Frightened, he glanced around. “Hello?” He called. No one answered, and the little girl was nowhere to be found. That somehow worried him more than the rain. Had the truck gotten her? Was she still crying? Had he hurt her when he’d pulled her off the road? Thinking that made him feel sick._

_Something dark flashed in the corner of his eye. He whipped around to face it, but the glass doors leading right into the hospital stared back at him, as empty as they had been before. He pressed his hand over his heart and clutched at his shirt, feeling his knees go weak. Something was watching him. Something bad._

_The hair on the back of his neck stood up on end when he felt those eyes on him. He was frozen in place, his entire body locked up at the joints. Rising rain splattered against his skin, leaving him covered in cold droplets._

_His body couldn’t move, but his eyes could. He dragged them over his shoulder and up the face of the building directly behind him. In one of the windows – the only open one – something dark lurked. With its misshapen arm and shifting, purple shape, he recognised it instantly. The monster was facing him, looking down at him from that room, its eyes glowing an ominous yellow. That same purple aura was emanating off its form, obscuring its solid shape into something malignant and constantly shifting._

_He wanted to run. Every fibre in his body was screaming that this thing was going to kill him, was going to hurt him. He was frozen to the ground, but he felt like he was falling, like he’d been uprooted and pushed off a terrifying ledge. He was pinned like a butterfly in a spider’s web beneath the gaze of the misshapen ghost._

_But something else scared him more. It came as a shock, something that abruptly and sharply pierced its way through the haziness of the dream. It was a cold realisation, a piece of reality that wedged itself into his mind when nothing else had ever broken through the dreams of a malevolent ghost before. More than anything, he found that suddenly remembering a part of his real life in a dream that wasn’t his own was more terrifying than anything else he’d ever come across._

_Because the room he was staring at, the room the misshapen ghost was pervading – he recognised it. He knew what it was meant for, that it couldn’t be a coincidence. He knew what it was, what it was called._

_The Blue Ward._


	21. The Truth No One Believes

Keith’s room was freezing when he woke. He was covered in sweat, but his fingertips were almost blue, and he couldn’t feel his nose. He knew the moment he opened his eyes that he’d had a ghost-induced dream. His hair was standing on end and despite being drenched in sweat, he was cold and shivering. Something very wrong had sunk into his stomach like a slab of concrete. There was no way he could have fallen asleep after waking from that, so he didn’t even try. He spent two hours refilling the bathtub with scorching hot water before he finally felt some semblance of alive.

The dream didn’t leave him. They’d always been fleeting, in the moment; they never lingered the next morning, and always somehow managed to escape his grasp no matter how hard he tried to remember them. This one wasn’t. He couldn’t remember it, but it was a heavy presence in his mind, like it was begging to be recalled. It was maddening.

Something had him going into work after he’d stopped trembling from the cold. He was more than two hours early, and some of the nightshift workers were still on call, so he didn’t have anything to do. Without his white coat and nametag many assumed him to be a visitor, so he went with it, and stayed away from the main office with the lockers.

Wandering around the hospital as a visitor was different to walking its halls as a staff member. Doctors unfamiliar with him gave him considerate looks, and other visitors didn’t meet his eyes. Everyone seemed to move around one another like the opposite ends of a magnet. Even when he took a seat in one of the waiting rooms it was like he was nothing more than a fixture in the hospital. One could replace him with a dozen other people and nothing would ever seem out of place.

But everything was out of place. Keith had always found hospitals unsettlingly, but without the dead roaming its halls, there was nothing to blame his uneasiness on other than the general feeling the place gave him. This was a place where people came because they were hurt or ill or dead. It frightened him that it could be so empty of anything other than the living.

“What’s the long face for, _niño bonito?”_

Keith jumped. That was something he hadn’t heard in far too long. “Lance,” he breathed, “are you okay?”

Lance had looked better. There were dark rings under his eyes and his skin was looking paler than it ever had before. His edges were becoming more and more transparent, and that frightened Keith more than anything. He’d never seen a ghost turn so… invisible. “What? Of course I’m okay,” Lance said with a forced grin. “How you holding up, hot stuff?”

A chill ran down Keith’s spine. The last time he’d seen Lance, Lance had been crying out for his help. He’d been in danger. Why was he trying to brush that off like it never happened? “Aren’t you scared?” He hissed.

The nurse at the reception desk gave him a funny look. He ducked his head, his face red. Humiliation was not one of the things he wanted to feel that morning. After stuffing his hands into his pockets he stood and left the ward, followed quietly by his ghost. The first place he could think of that would be empty was the office, so that was were he went. 

“Keith, is something wrong?” Lance asked. He put his hand on Keith’s shoulder, but his grip was weak, and it felt like Keith could walk right through it.

“Of course something’s wrong,” Keith said, aggravated. He rubbed his arms as a chill crept up them again. “I still don’t know what that _thing_ is, and you’re- I’m still having nightmares, and…”

“Hey, hey,” Lance said, as he stepped into Keith’s space, “listen to me, to my voice. Are you listening?”

Keith wanted to jerk away. He flinched when Lance lifted his hands, and again when those cold hands touched his cheeks. As much as he was worked up, Lance’s touch brought him straight back down. He almost hated the ghost for it, for how much he affected him. 

“There you go,” Lance said, “good. Now tell me what happened.”

Keith hesitated. He couldn’t meet Lance’s inquiring eyes. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

For a moment, the room was painfully quiet. “Ghosts? Why?”

“Just curious.” The words left a foul taste in his mouth the moment he’d said them. This had gone on too long. He cleared his throat. “Have you ever thought about it before?”

“Not really,” Lance said. He was quiet for another moment. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Believe in them.”

“I do,” he whispered. “Is that stupid?”

“People can believe in whatever they want,” Lance said. “Why the sudden ghost talk?”

“I believe in them,” Keith said again. His face was becoming unbearably cold, so he took Lance’s hands in his and lowered them. “I know a lot about them, about the way they work.”

“You sound like a hard core believer. Tell me about them.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a distraction.”

That wasn’t the answer Keith had been expecting. He felt guilty knowing what he was about to do, because Lance thought it was helping _him._ He couldn’t have been more wrong. “Ghosts have these… rules. Like laws of nature.”

“Laws of nature?”

“Like… like how fish can swim, and humans can walk, but with ghosts there aren’t any exceptions. At least that’s what I thought,” he muttered.

“You talk like you can see them.”

Keith’s eyes flickered up to Lance’s face for a moment before lowering again. The sight of Lance’s confused and vaguely disbelieving face made his heart sink. He’d seen that look dozens of times before, but from Lance it hurt.

“So?” Lance prompted after a tense moment. “What are the laws of ghosts then?”

Again, Keith found himself hesitating. If he told Lance, then Lance would realise he was dead. A tightness filled his chest. He didn’t want Lance to move on, but wasn’t it worse of him to keep it a secret? “They’re stuck in one place,” he said quietly, “or with one item. Something important to them.”

“Like the place they died, or something?”

Keith nodded. “It’s about attachment,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a place or an object or even a human.”

Lance’s face twisted. “That’s creepy. Imagine having a ghost following you.”

Keith winced through a laugh. “Yeah, imagine.”

“What else do you know about ghosts?”

“They can’t be seen by humans,” Keith said. “They’re invisible. They can’t interact with human things, can’t throw things, or anything like that.”

“So not like the movies.”

He shook his head. “They give people uncomfortable impressions, like something bad is going to happen, or that someone is watching them.” His hands tightened around Lance’s without him realising. “They leave cold spots.” He paused for a moment. “Would it really be so bad to be followed around by a ghost? It would make someone less lonely.”

“But people can’t see them.”

“Right.”

“Aren’t they dangerous, too? They seem like they would be, but I’ve never thought about it.”

“Some are violent,” he said, looking down. “They scare people, give people bad dreams. But some are nice. They want company, want… want friends. Or a wish to be fulfilled so that they can move on, but I don’t know where they go.”

Maybe his words were troubling Lance, because Lance tightened his grip. Keith feared that if he held on any tighter his fingers would go straight through Lance’s, like they weren’t really there. “Is that something that bothers you?” Lance asked. “You’re shaking.”

Keith didn’t think he was. He felt frozen stiff, like he wasn’t the living, breathing one anymore. “It’s not just that,” he said in a hushed rush of breath, “don’t you get it? A person has to be dead for their ghost to appear. A living person and a ghost can’t both be the same.”

It was painful to admit. He’d never thought of ghosts as people, or of people as ghosts, but that line was completely blurred. Even if he’d thought to himself a dozen times that a ghost was a dead person, he’d never said it out loud. Admitting it made it real.

Lance was dead.

He’d never be anything real again. 

“I wonder how a ghost knows they’re a ghost,” Lance said. “Do they realise? I mean, they’re not even real, are they?”

Keith closed his eyes. When he could manage to breathe in again, he opened them. “They… probably think they’re invisible,” he whispered. “No one can see them.”

Lance frowned. It wasn’t a look that suited his face. “What are you saying, Keith?”

He couldn’t help but shrink away from Lance’s sharp tone. The air was starting to prick at his skin, ice-cold. He wished he’d never come to work at all. “Listen-”

“I _am_ listening,” Lance said. He tried to pull his hands from Keith’s, but Keith held on. “What are you trying to get at, Keith?”

“Just think about it!” He said. “The cold, appearing in my room, that- that thing from before- listen to me, Lance!”

“No!” Lance pulled his hands away. The tiny difference in their heights had never felt larger. “Are you trying to tell me that I’m- I’m _dead?_ What kind of sick game is this, Keith?”

“It’s not a game,” Keith said, as he reached for Lance’s hands again. The cold sting of them being slapped away shocked him. “Please, Lance-”

“Stop it!” Lance shouted. 

Keith cried out as his grip on Lance’s hands suddenly turned subzero. His fingertips and nailbeds flooded with blue as he jerked away, but he wasn’t fast enough to feel how Lance’s skin suddenly lost all of its solidness. Lance was shaking his head, his fingers fisted in his hair as he backed away as fast as he could before his back hit the office door. The look in his eyes accused Keith of being a monster. 

“Lance, please,” Keith begged. He stepped forwards, but the air around Lance was turning frigid, and his breath started to mist. Even still, he pressed on. He needed Lance to understand. Lance couldn’t just leave him, not after everything he’d made Keith feel. 

Lance’s hands slowly unravelled from his hair, and then fell slack. He was staring open-mouthed at his feet, like he was suddenly the one who couldn’t breathe. “I can’t remember my best friend, my family… half the time I can’t even remember you, let alone _me.”_ He let out a clipped burst of Spanish that was undoubtedly a curse. “I can’t be- I _can’t be-”_

Something was tightening around that anxious knot in Keith’s throat. Lance was flickering in and out like a television with a bad signal. “Lance…”

“Get away from me!” Lance jerked back against the door. 

Something as bitter as anger bubbled in him. “You’re the one that’s different!” Keith shouted, as he slammed his fist against the door, caging Lance in. “Now you tell me to leave? You’re the one that followed me home and called for my help and acted like you cared!”

 _“Acted?”_ Lance repeated. “You… you think that was all an act?”

And then, like a power switch being abruptly flicked off, Lance was gone. The lights in the room buzzed unnaturally. Keith moved away from the door, shocked by the cold breeze that dragged through him. “Lance,” he called. Not even a hint of something ghostly remained. Panic surged over his mind. “Lance!”

The door flew open. Keith jumped, thinking it was Lance, but it wasn’t. It was Shiro, and horrified, Keith saw that Pidge and Hunk were with him. Neither one of them looked anything less than angry. 

Pidge, fuming, grabbed Keith by the collar before Hunk could stop him, and yanked Keith down. “What the _hell_ is going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but I found this chapter incredibly difficult to write. I've wanted to write this scene for a long time, but I'm unsure if I managed to convey what I wanted to. I hope it's alright (and angsty enough aha)


	22. The Words That Should Not Have Been Said

“Why are you so quiet, Keith?” Pidge demanded, voice steadily creeping higher as his hands in Keith’s collar tightened. “I’m sick of this. Why won’t you tell me why you’ve been acting so off? We’re a team.”

Words lodged themselves in Keith’s throat, as thick as smoke. He stumbled over his own feet, shocked by the weight Pidge had behind him. He grabbed at Pidge’s thin wrists and unsuccessfully tried to pry them away. 

“Why are you talking about Lance?” Pidge pressed. “What do you know?”

“Nothing,” he forced out, as he pulled Pidge’s hands of off him. “I- I don’t know a Lance-” 

“Stop lying!” Pidge pulled away almost violently, shaking off Hunk’s attempts to calm him. He looked as panicked as Keith felt. “Who do you think you are, acting like this? Do you understand anything that we’ve been through? What we’re _still_ going through?”

Something painful twisted at Keith’s chest. “Of course I don’t understand, you never tell me anything,” he said. “I’m not even a part of your original team!”

“You know we don’t think that,” Hunk said, as he pulled Pidge aside. His expression had gone very hard. “You’re just as much a part of this team as we are, regardless of whether you were originally on it or not.”

“Hunk, stop it!” Pidge snarled. “He doesn’t care at all, he never has.” He rounded on Keith. “Do you think we can’t see it when you act weird? Are you doing it to make us feel bad?”

“I don’t- I’m not _trying_ to do anything!” Keith snapped. He could feel exhaustion pulling down on his eyes, the lack of sleep and constant agitation rushing to catch up with him. His heart was already racing. He was spinning out of control. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” Shiro pushed his way in between them, hands outstretched. He defined the space between them – made it a _them_ and a _him._ Keith had never felt more isolated, not even in his dreams. When Shiro’s eyes bored into him, it became clear which side Shiro stood on. “Keith, this has gone on for too long.”

It was the type of thing someone said when they were thinking in his “best interest”. He prickled at what Shiro was implying, and tensed. “You have no right,” he said, voice like broken glass, “to decide that for me.”

“I have every right,” Shiro argued, “I’ve had to deal with this for years too, Keith.”

The twisted place inside him twisted even further. He was out of breath, shaken by the accusation and how readily Shiro had thrown it. He felt like a cornered cat, hackles raised and teeth barred. “I didn’t ask you to do anything for me,” Keith shot back, “my parents did that.” It was a low blow, one he felt guiltily satisfied about saying. The fact that Keith’s parents had flipped from liking Shiro to disapproving of him after his death was an unspoken sore spot between them. They both knew that Keith would have turned out drastically different if Shiro hadn’t stepped up to the plate and insisted on caring for him when his parents had no time to do the job themselves. 

Shiro lowered his arm. “You know I wouldn’t have left you alone, Keith.”

_I’ll be fine, you hear me, Keith? I won’t leave you._

They were words Shiro had said when he was dead. Keith vividly recalled them, like Shiro had spoken them exactly as he had before. A wave of nausea rolled through him. Shiro didn’t remember any of the time he spent as a ghost. Hearing the words echoed back at him threw Keith off balance.

“Wait, so you raised Keith?” Hunk asked, incredulous. 

Shiro pursed his lips into a thin line, but didn’t deny it. “Tell them Keith, or I will. I’m serious, this has to stop.”

“It’s none of their business, Shiro!” 

Shiro’s hands came down onto his shoulders, grounding him. He didn’t speak until Keith met his eyes. “You know I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was right,” he said. “You _know_ I’ve only ever done things to protect you.”

Keith wavered. He loved Shiro, knew that Shiro was the closest thing he had to a brother and a parent other than his own absent family. Shiro wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. But this… this felt wrong. After what he’d just done to Lance, nothing felt right.

Shiro took his indecisive silence as permission. “Keith can see ghosts,” Shiro said. 

Keith felt boneless. It sounded counterfeit. There was no way all of his problems could be explained like that, with just four short words. He wanted to reject them, to separate them from himself, but deep down they were the route of his problems. 

Pidge let out an incredulous sound. There was an irritated furrow in his brows. “Are you serious? You expect us to believe that.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I’m only telling you because it’s the truth.” He was using his commanding officer voice, the one that made even Keith fall into line when all he wanted to do was rebel. “Hospitals are filled with the living, but the dead are here, too.” 

An uncomfortable shudder went through Keith. He’d never told anyone about what he could see, other than Shiro. And Shiro had never told anyone. Hearing it laid out so plainly made him unsteady. “Stop it, Shiro,” he said.

“This is ridiculous.” Pidge shook his head. “A superstition is not an excuse for any of this. There is no proof that ghosts even exist.”

Keith flinched. He’d thought the same things dozens of times – had thought he was crazy, had been tormented by thoughts that he wasn’t _right._ Like an important connection in his head had been ripped from its socket. “They exist,” he said, quiet and weak. “I see them.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that. There’s nothing scientific about that, nothing to make me believe it. This is stupid. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you, right from the beginning. There’s no way you’d fit in with us.”

“Pidge!” Hunk snapped. “Lance wouldn’t want you to say that!”

“Lance didn’t even like Keith!” Pidge snapped back. “Even you know that. Don’t you understand what he’s saying?”

_What?_

Hunk winced as he was lashed by Pidge’s shouts. “Pidge…”

Keith didn’t understand their bond, not one bit. This talk about their Lance and the way they had conversations with nothing more than looks widened the hole in the floor between them. His head was spinning.

Pidge rounded on Hunk this time. “If he’s serious about the ghosts, then he’s saying Lance is _dead!”_

Hunk’s face fell. 

“Dead, Hunk! Not just- not just-” Pidge pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. The room went silent. 

 

_The hospital room was cold. His Mother had wrapped her jacket around his shoulders before they’d entered, and told him to keep his voice down. Her shoes clacked against the floor, but the rest of her was utterly silent. Her hand held his loosely for a moment, before letting go._

_“I’ll leave you here for a moment, okay Keith? I have to go speak with the doctor. Make sure to be quiet.”_

_There was a man on the bed. A blanket covered him, but from beneath it bandages crawled across his skin. A white patch was stuck across his nose, and a white streak marred his hair. The colour seemed blinding, and when left alone, Keith cowered._

_“Keith?”_

_He recognised the voice. Slowly, he approached the bed, and stood on his toes to peer closer at its occupant. “Shiro?”_

_A wane smile stretched across Shiro’s face. It looked painful. “Hey, buddy. Are you cold?” He made to move his blanket, but Keith reached out a small hand to hold it still._

_“Shiro…” His voice wobbled. “They said you were hurt.”_

_“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, Keith.”_

_“Why?”_

_“There was an accident…”_

_“No, why are you sorry?” Keith put a foot on the bed railing and pulled himself up. “Are you going to die again?”_

_Shiro’s smile fell. “Keith…”_

_Keith reached forwards, both hands shaking as he clutched at Shiro’s thin hospital gown. “Are you? Are you going to die again?”_

_Shiro lifted his frail left hand and rubbed his knuckle under Keith’s eyes. His fingers came away wet. “Don’t cry, buddy. You’ll make me cry too.”_

_But Keith was already crying. The cries started small, but he wasn’t able to contain them, or keep quiet. He wailed even as Shiro pulled him closer to tuck him under the blanket, his arm shaking with effort. Keith’s chest heaved as his fingers made red marks against Shiro’s exposed collarbones, trying to hold on._

_“I’m not going anywhere Keith,” Shiro whispered, as he put his face in Keith’s hair. “So don’t cry, okay?”_

 

“That’s right,” Keith whispered to himself. “Ghosts are dead. That’s all.”

“Shut up!” Pidge shouted. He suddenly looked like he was going to collapse in on himself. “Shut up, shut up! Lance isn’t dead! He’s not a stupid ghost!”

“What, so I’m lying?” Keith let out a bark of shallow laughter. “Is that what it is?”

“What else could it be?” Pidge demanded. His face was red, but his brown eyes were bone dry. “You don’t even know Lance.”

Keith went quiet. He knew the Lance that he saw – the dead one. Knew that Lance spoke Spanish, that he couldn’t remember his friends, that he thought he was flirty and suave and invisible. But the Lance that had been alive? The one that lived and breathed and felt things?

That Lance was a complete stranger.

“So?” Keith whispered. “So what if I don’t know your Lance? I know a ghost. That’s all.”

“Lance isn’t dead!” Pidge lunged forwards, grabbed Keith by the shirt. “You have no right to say any of this. You don’t know him, don’t care about him, never even looked at him. Don’t talk about him as if he means something to you!”

“Pidge, stop it,” Hunk said, as Pidge hauled Keith out of the room. “You’re making things worse-”

“Shut up, Hunk. I’m sick of this.”

“Let go of me.” Keith clawed at Pidge’s hands, but he felt feeble, drained of energy. When he got Pidge’s hands off of him, they reattached at his wrists, and he was again captured in the current of Pidge’s anger. 

“What are you doing?” Shiro followed them, his steps fast and heavy. He made to pull Keith back, but hesitated. Keith desperately wanted his help.

“I’m going to prove it,” Pidge said, fervent. “My friend isn’t dead. He can’t be dead.”

Keith recognised the halls he was being pulled through. It was almost like a dream; he had no control over his body, over what he saw. A feeling of powerlessness overwhelmed him. “Stop it,” he whispered, voice so quiet he could hardly hear it. 

“Pidge, not today,” Hunk insisted as he rushed to keep up. “You know today is-”

“There is no tomorrow, Hunk!” Pidge lashed out like a cornered animal, ready to hurt anyone to get away. “There’s no tomorrow for him anymore. It’s already-” He cut himself off.

The sign for the Blue Ward loomed over him. Keith was frozen, breath caught in his lungs. “Stop it,” he whispered, as he pulled against Pidge. 

He couldn’t go in there. Darkness clouded around the edges of the corridor, or maybe it was his vision, he couldn’t tell. That line between reality and dream was starting to blur again, was knocking him off his feet. He felt like he was falling, falling...

“Keith?” Shiro’s hands touched his back, but he was suddenly far away, voice muffled.

“Stop it,” Keith said again. Pidge passed into the corridor, his hand stretched back to pull Keith along with him. “Stop it, stop it,” he tried again. Coldness swept up his arm, made his bones ache. For the first time, he passed into the Blue Ward. _“Stop it!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update, this chapter was incredibly difficult to write. The self-imposed word limit is a bit of a challenge to work with, though it does help me value every word I use each chapter... This one was going to work out very differently. I had a different flashback at the beginning of the work and had planned for the argument to be shorter so that they could move on into the next sequence, but it ended up being much longer. I had to push back the other flashback too. I think I mostly struggled with the verbal conflict, though. I ended up rewriting this chapter more than I've ever rewritten anything before... I hope it's still alright! I have a lot I want to point out, but I think I'll leave that to those reading it to interpret, haha.


	23. The Blue Ward

Pidge paid no heed to his words. It was like he didn’t hear Keith, even though his pleas reached Shiro and Hunk. He marched on like a soldier, swept up in his own pain.

The Blue Ward was suffocating. Keith felt like he was sinking into the ground, and even though he dug his heels in, Pidge overpowered him. The air turned heavy as Keith cast a terrified look over his shoulder at Shiro. Shiro reached out for him, but Keith slipped from his grip, as if Shiro had nothing to hold onto.

“Pidge, stop it!” Keith pulled back on his hand hard enough to jar his shoulder. He clutched at his chest as he rocked on his feet, suddenly unstable. The world was shaking around him, turning and sliding off its axis. Only Pidge remained steady, unaffected by anything that tormented Keith.

He’d never realised how different they were until then.

Something in him had turned incredibly fragile. He didn’t want to be in the Blue Ward anymore, it wasn’t safe. Dark shapes were seeping into the edges of his vision, shifting and moving like they were alive. He wanted to look at them, but that would make them real, so he didn’t. His arms were prickled with shivers. “Stop it,” he whispered. No other words would leave him.

Pidge’s steely resolve didn’t waver, not even when Shiro put his hands on Keith’s arms. Pidge seemed to baulk up at the unspoken challenge. “How can you believe this, Shiro?” Pidge demanded. “You of all people-”

“Pidge, don’t talk about what you don’t know,” Shiro snapped. 

The snarl wasn’t aimed at him, but Keith flinched. He’d never heard Shiro raise his voice at any of them, not like that. He sounded scarily like Keith’s father. Pitifully, Keith wanted to sink into him, just like he had when he was a child with his father, when thunder or the dark or a dead person had frightened him. 

He squeezed his eyes shut.

 

_“Papa, I’m scared…”_

_A warm hand touched the back of his head, holding him still. Keith could feel eyes watching him. Shivering, he clutched at his father’s shirt with white-knuckled fingers._

_“It was just a nightmare, Keith,” his father said. He’d come into Keith’s room a few moments ago, drawn close by the sound of Keith’s cries for him. “Nothing to be fearful of.”_

_Keith whimpered._

_His father sighed, and lifted the quilt from Keith’s bed higher around his shaking shoulders. His hand was warm in Keith’s hair, and the gentle pressure from it was endlessly comforting. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “It was just a nightmare. I’m here.”_

_“It wasn’t a nightmare,” Keith whimpered again. It wasn’t. It was real – a real person with real water dripping from their mouth and their nose and their hair. He could still hear it behind him, dripping and dripping and dripping. It was real. Wasn’t it?_

_He squeezed his eyes shut._

 

Keith hadn’t expected the memory. No part of his conscious mind pulled it forwards; it swept over him like a dream, and with it came a wave of dizziness. If Shiro’s hands hadn’t been digging bruises into his arms, he wouldn’t have been able to keep his feet under him. He felt like warmth was oozing out of him.

“You know what happened with my accident, Pidge,” Shiro said sharply. “You should know better than anyone.”

Something violently protective crossed Pidge’s face, just for a moment. His older brother, Matt, had worked with Shiro back when Shiro was a pilot, before the accident. Pidge had only joined the Garrison because Matt had, and if that didn’t tell Keith everything he needed to know about their bond, then nothing would. 

“So you’re saying that when you died, he saw you as a ghost?”

Shiro pursed his lips. It was all the answer Pidge needed. He didn’t look like he liked it.

“And let me guess, you have no proof,” he stated. 

“None,” Shiro said. “I don’t remember a thing from the moment the accident happened to the moment I woke up with a new arm. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe it.”

A strange, fluttery feeling went through Keith. He hadn’t really thought that Shiro believed him until then. If Pidge was the ground crumbling before him, then Shiro was a steady pillar, completely immovable. He was trying to be the thread that kept Keith together, and Keith could sense it. 

“You can’t believe in something that isn’t real,” Pidge said. “Not like this, not when it involves people’s lives. It’s not your place.”

 

_Shiro stood at the end of the bed, folding clothes. Keith watched him, his tiny hands fisted in his red-patterned sheets. A mobile spun above his head, dangling spaceships and stars; a remnant from his infancy, that’s what his Mama called it every time she glanced over it with disapproving eyes. It cast spinning shadows along the walls of his bedroom._

_“What are you doing?” He asked._

_“You’re going to stay with me for a little,” Shiro said. He didn’t meet Keith’s eyes._

_“Are Mama and Papa going away again?”_

_“Yeah. Sorry, buddy.”_

_“It’s okay,” Keith said. Hearing Shiro apologise made something uncomfortable twist in him, something he was too young to name. His eyes followed the murky shape of a spaceship’s shadow as it passed over the dark sling keeping Shiro’s shoulder still. “How long am I staying with you this time?”_

_“Only a month or so,” Shiro said. He tried to keep his voice light; Keith could hear it in the small hitch at the beginning of his sentence, but he just sounded tired. Compared to how long Keith’s parents had stayed away before, it was a short amount of time. “I’m surprised they let me take you again…”_

_Keith tilted his head, making a puzzled noise. He smoothed his hands over the sheets, pushing around wrinkles. “Why?”_

_Shiro paused. He didn’t look up from the shirt in his hands, but after a moment, he folded it, and stacked it in Keith’s red suitcase. It was almost like he was a windup toy, stopping and starting when his thoughts caught up with his words. “Don’t you worry about that, buddy. I shouldn’t have said anything.”_

_Keith had been told the same thing a dozen different ways. Don’t worry, it was just a slip of the tongue, forget you ever heard anything, don’t mention it again – they were all the same things said with different words, without ever touching the underlying command cunningly hidden behind them._

_Be quiet._

_Shiro let out a sigh as he stretched his back and rolled his shoulder. He looked like he didn’t know about the monster lurking behind his words. Shiro wasn’t watching Keith, but Keith was watching him. Ugly scars were scrawling out from the neckline of his shirt. They were as jagged as the red slash across his nose._

_When he noticed Keith staring, he pulled up his collar, and crouched beside the bed. His arms were open as he crowded Keith into them, just the same way a mother duck cradled her ducklings when something dangerous hunted nearby. “I want you to be okay, Keith,” he said, as he cradled the back of Keith’s head. His words were impossible gentle. “Don’t worry about me, alright? It’s not your place.”_

 

Keith was shaken from his dream – no, it was a memory, he reminded himself – when Pidge plucked up his wrist again. Pidge’s fingers were hot bands against his chilled skin. “You need to stop,” Pidge said. “The secrets, the lies, Lance. You’re so wrong it’s not even funny anymore.”

“It’s not funny,” he said. He sounded shaky to his own ears. “Why would I lie about this? What do I gain from being untruthful? I-”

“Oh I don’t know, Keith,” Pidge exclaimed, exasperated. “I don’t know anything about you.”

Keith stilled. He could vividly hear it in his head, then – his parents whispering the same thing to one another when they thought he couldn’t hear them. They thought he was sick, or antisocial, or some morbid combination of the two that resulted from their parenting or his birth or something entirely unrelated to them at all. They’d known from the beginning that something was wrong. Maybe that’s why they’d parented him from a distance, why they hadn’t loved him as much as they had before he could talk.

He wondered if he’d dreamed of their affection, or if the ghosts had simply been too loud for him to hear them.

Thinking about it made him feel unanchored, like he was drifting away from his body. The ghosts were real; he’d always convinced himself of that. He didn’t want to think the opposite, because he was afraid of what it meant. Afraid of where it left him. In a lot of ways his sense of reality had always been grounded in Shiro, when Shiro had cared for him and held him upright and taught him to speak when he was being too quiet. 

It wasn’t enough anymore.

His mind was going fuzzy. Keith could hear voices coming from the rooms in the Blue Ward, like echoes of a person who no longer remained there. None of them were legible. They dragged through him like something physical pulling at his skin. He was so worn down by the ward that he barely felt Pidge’s tight grip on his limp wrist anymore, not even when Pidge began to lead him further into the ward’s depths. 

Hunk was trying to reason with Pidge, and Shiro had taken to following them with nothing but a stern, parental look on his face, but nothing could dissuade Pidge’s anger. It was like a crackling force, blending with the noise of the Blue Ward in ways that hurt Keith’s head. 

He suddenly wished he could remember what Lance’s hands felt like.

 

_He could see his mother standing by the window. She was like a statue, bathed in white light and a white gown she only wore when she was sick. Keith wasn’t meant to be downstairs, but he missed Shiro, and he missed his Papa, and he wanted his Mama to look at him properly._

_She remained still as he touched her hand. Her eyes didn’t leave the distance. “I’m sorry, Keith.”_

_He didn’t know what she was sorry for, but it abruptly brought on feelings of guilt and disgust too strong for his age. He wanted to see himself reflected in her eyes. She remained motionless, frozen by cold sunlight._

_He let go of her hand._

 

Keith gasped as memories swelled over him. They were as unanchored as he was, swirling around in the chaos and emptiness of the ward, trying to fill in spaces ripped open by long-gone patients. When he finally jerked free from Pidge’s grip for good, he was already right where Pidge wanted him. 

Pidge put a hand flat on the door ahead of them, pushing it open. The flash of a white curtain at an open window threatened to pull the image of Keith’s mother back, but he hurriedly fought it down. He stepped forwards, swept into the room by a force he couldn’t name. His skin tingled, his fingertips turning blue with cold that wasn’t caused by an outside wind. His heart was being so fast that it had gone quiet. 

A lonely figure lay on the bed. For a moment the bright white of the curtains blinded him, and he felt like something was trying to turn him away, but he was frozen in place.

His jaw clamped up. His teeth tore at his bottom limp. A watery whimper clogged up his throat as he reached out a trembling hand, feeling like something terribly important had broken inside his head. His world was sliding again, blurring dreams into reality as strangled voices crowded his ears and his body became weightless.

_“Lance?”_

Bile rose in his throat. He lunged towards the waste bin and promptly emptied everything in his stomach.


	24. The Death Of Keith Kogane

Pain rubbed Keith’s throat raw. He heaved, shoulders jerking, but his stomach was empty of everything, including all its acid if the burning was anything to judge by. He clutched at his shirt as his body shook with involuntary spasms.

There was nothing left in him anymore.

_A dream. I must be dreaming._

Only dead people were ghosts. People who’d died, been killed, slipped away in the middle of the night without as much as a snuffle. He had never figured out what a ghost was, but there was no way a ghost and its body could coexist. Ghosts were for dead people. Not the sick, not the sleeping. Not the comatose.

The word sent shivers like knives down his spine.

Shiro’s hands pulled Keith’s hair away from his face. “Is this what you wanted, Pidge?” Shiro demanded. “Do you believe him now?”

The words were far away. Keith clutched the edge of the waste basket, willing for the twinges in his stomach to stop. Something dark was swelling over his mind, over his body. His head spun. The world shifted, images overlapping and twisting and forming cracked crevices. He clutched the basket tighter, trying to ground himself in the present.

“Shiro,” he croaked, “I don’t understand.”

Shiro’s eyes flittered down to him. He looked frightened, and more than anything, that scared Keith.

“You believe me, right?” Keith pleaded, grasping onto the end of Shiro’s coat. “I saw him, Shiro. I did. He’s a ghost.”

Shiro’s lips formed a thin line. It said _I’m not sure_ without needing the words. Keith flinched away from him, heart shattering. Shiro had always believed him. If he didn’t, then no one did.

He wanted to look back at the bed, but the image of it hadn’t left his eyes. That person’s face was just like Lance’s; same thin nose, arched brows, hollow cheeks. Everything in Keith wanted to reject it, but the similarities were a line separating the confused haze in his mind. Was Lance really dead? Was Lance really alive? Both were a lie, but both were truths that he’d seen with his own eyes.

He couldn’t trust himself.

Something wasn’t right. This entire time he’d been sure Lance was dead. He knew Lance was a ghost. All signs pointed to ghost, and ghosts meant dead people, no exceptions. Was he wrong, or were the others? It was obvious.

He was.

The world blurred. Keith’s mind raced, re-evaluating everything that had happened in the last six months. He tried to recall the first time he’d met Lance, but it had been as simple as meeting any other ghost. 

Sweat dripped down his back.

Shiro and Pidge were arguing. He could hear their hissed voices, but their words were lost, blown away like smoke. When Keith got to his feet, neither noticed. It was like he was invisible. He stumbled, one foot uncooperative, but remained standing. His eyes wouldn’t focus on Shiro, or Pidge, or even Lance.

He left the room.

The garden beckoned him. He didn’t know how he knew it was that, but it was; leaves rustled against his ears, and sunlight valiantly tried to warm what was frozen between his ribs. A cat mewed, pitiful and frightened. The garden beckoned him.

But he was not dead, and he could not go to it.

 

_The sensation of dreaming was not foreign, this time. Sunlight bled from being a ghostly sensation to a blinding whiteness against his eyes, creating sunspots that danced through his gaze. He had a hand lifted, palm flat against the window ahead to steady himself. He did not recall telling his body to lift it._

_Shiro had always told him that muscle memory was a good skill to have, and in that moment, Keith agreed. Dreaming brought forth a rush of actions, thoughts, struggles: remember your name, remember what you see. Can you remember? He could._

_“I am Keith.” No sound, but his lips formed the words. They became real when silently whispered, and feeling a spike of confidence, he whispered more. “I am Keith. I am dreaming. I am in love with a ghost.”_

_Are you? The dream whispered back._

_His confidence wavered._

_This was something he had dreamed before. Not the act of remembering – no, that was new, so shocking that he didn’t realise it was happening – but the scene. A hospital corridor out endlessly stretched on either side, its walls pocked with windows. Each glass pane showed the same scene, no matter which he looked out of. They showed a road lined with trees, occupied only by a rumbling Garrison truck and a tiny, shaking figure, without any definite beginning or ending._

_“I am Keith,” he said again. He had to remember. His fingers curled against the glass._

_This time, the figure was not a kitten, but a child. That had happened before too, in a past dream. Again, the shock of remembering glazed over him, like a rock skipping across an uneasy pond, its ripples swallowed whole. The child was familiar to him – a young girl, eyes big and blue. The rock she cast created bigger ripples._

_Dread sunk into his bones. The truck moved, wheels crunching silently against the road. It swerved towards her, and Keith tried to shout, but then there was someone else, and then his eyes blurred, and his mind muddled, and he couldn’t hold onto the dream’s narrative any longer._

_Something hunched into existence behind him. Dark, unfocused, malevolent. In his head, his mind skipped forwards in time, seeing shards of glass and the earth rushing towards him – no, him rushing towards it. He was too far forwards. The dream had thrown him towards the end, and he needed the beginning._

_If this wasn’t real, then neither was time._

_He was scared, but he took a step back. One more and he would brush against the creature waiting to throw him overboard._

_Sweat dripped down his back._

_He took another step. He heard his own voice say “I am Keith” in his mind, but he did not think the words. He took another step. Walking backwards, arms swinging backwards, everything in rewind. He desperately hoped that his lungs remembered to breathe in and out, in and out. Was breathing in reverse possible? He didn’t want to find out._

_The light from the window released him. It cut a harsh line through him, and with a final step back, he was free. A gasping breath heaved out of his lungs, and when he glanced up, he was in a different corridor, the one where he’d seen a room from the Garrison. When he’d been dreaming while awake._

_He touched a hand to the glass. Lance was inside, standing between faceless Garrison officers and a figure in a dark uniform. This time, the familiarity of the uniform was not hidden by the dreams inability to retain memories._

_It was an officer of the Galra._

_“… It’s not right! Shouldn’t we…”_

_“Impossible…”_

_“… not impossible! If we…”_

_“That could work…”_

_“No!”_

_“It decided. We can no longer go through…”_

_“… I apologise, Sendak, but Lance is correct in…”_

_Keith clutched at his head, groaning. Words slipped in and out like liquid, never fully grasping onto his subconscious. He tried to focus on them, but even if the wall between him and the room posed no barrier, something else certainly did._

_The door blew open. Keith skittered back. The Galra soldier stormed out, his back to Keith, face hidden. The misshapen lump of his shoulder threatened to tear open the seams of his uniform. From a distance, his dark form had no distinct shape. He was dark, unfocused, malevolent. Keith was suddenly confronted by the thought that he’d seen the man before: dark shadows spun dreamed webs in his mind, tangled around the image of bursting seams and rumbling trucks._

_This was it, wasn’t it? Something important was being shown. He couldn’t figure out what, not even when he clutched at his hair, trying to keep his thoughts together. Lance standing up to someone twice his size and three times higher in rank, a Garrison vehicle, a little girl with eyes eerily blue…_

_Out of nowhere, the world heaved._

_Keith cried out as he was thrown to the ground. The corridor tipped up, up – and then he was clutching at strands of grass and spitting dirt from his mouth. The memory of being pushed from a window in a dream swelled over him and then it was gone and he was scrambling to his feet._

_Hands clutched at his face. “Keith!”_

_“Lance?” His voice was loud and clear. Keith grabbed at Lance’s shoulders like they were the only thing keeping him up. “Lance-”_

_Lance jerked backwards, dragging Keith with him. A loud noise echoed around the hospital courtyard, and for a second Keith feared it was a gunshot, but then a rain of glass flew overhead, uncontrolled by gravity. The ground rolled, caving in. The walls of the hospital wards began to crack, tipping inwards, crumbling._

_“You need to leave!” Lance shouted. When had the world gotten so loud that his voice was drowned out? “Keith, leave!”_

_“I’m not leaving without you!” Keith’s fingers tightened against Lance’s skin. In this muted world he should have felt nothing, but cold was creeping into his hands, brightening his skin with blue bruises._

_“Go!” Lance said. He wrenched Keith’s hands away, hesitated only for a moment, and then he pushed Keith._

_The ground swallowed him._

 

Pain ricocheted through his skull like a gunshot. The sound was deafening, and for a moment, he laid stunned against the hospital’s floor. He hadn’t made it far from Lance’s room, only halfway down the corridor towards the staircase.

“Keith!”

“Lance?” He was shaking, but he got his feet under him. 

Shiro and Pidge flew from the room. Hunk collapsed against the doorway, looking winded, eyes wide. Pidge looked like he’d been slapped. “Lance?” Pidge echoed. His eyes darted around back and forth between the room and the corridor.

“You heard,” Keith accused. He felt like he was dreaming again. His hands were cold.

“Keith!”

There it was again. Keith jerked around and rushed towards the stairs. The corridor was empty. “Lance!” He shouted. The dream was overlapping before his eyes, showing him crumbling buildings and smears of black and bruises. 

Lance flickered to life behind him; Keith felt a brush of cold wind, and then he was there, pinned to the floor by a giant, misshapen hand. 

“No!” The cry escaped him unbidden. He reached for something – anything – but he came up empty. Helplessness overwhelmed the panic in his mind. The rumble of a distant truck made the floor roll, and just as if he was dreaming, the world started to cave in. A fluorescent light from the ceiling cracked as it became unhinged, and then it swung down, carving a path through the dark shape. 

Lance was up in and instant, his fingers outstretched for Keith. “I told you to leave!”

“I did!” He thought he had. He couldn’t tell what was a dream or not anymore.

Lance’s skin had turned pale, his cheeks hollow. Mottled blue was forming a ring around his neck. He was fading. “Why? Why are you helping me?” He pleaded. 

Suddenly, the dark shape appeared between them, trapping Keith at the top of the stairs. The swinging light finally flickered out and the monster grew darker, stronger, bigger. Someone screamed his name – _Shiro._ A searing hand touched his chest, big enough to completely encompass it.

“Because,” he said, before the words could be extinguished, “because you said you wanted a friend, right? I want that too!”

Lance’s expression was frostbitten. 

The monster pushed.

Everything spun. Lance lunged towards him, _through_ the monster, uncaring that it blackened him. Time slowed. His fingers closed around Keith’s wrist, deathly cold, but he was just a ghost, and ghosts couldn’t hold living things. Keith slipped through his grasp. 

And then he fell. 

And fell.

And fell. 

Until he fell no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm quite happy with how this chapter turned out hehe


	25. The Afterlife

_One breath in._

 

Red seeped through cracks in the tiles. The shapes it made were geometric, inorganic, flowing solely in the direction that the building unassumingly tilted. Without it, perhaps the world would have been perfectly even; balanced. As it were, he watched red mark out the unfixed truth, that all things were created unevenly, that the world was tilted askew. The red slipped down and down, pushing forth, increasing in volume. White light slanting in from a window solidified its existence.

He no longer felt the cold from that light.

 

_One breath out._

 

Voices scratched around inside his skull. He clutched his hair, he himself uneven, wavering between non-existence and existence. Cold and warmth each took a grip of his soul, threatening to tear it in two. The warmth ached to have him return, to have him join those existing in its light. The cold hungered to right his existence in the only way it knew how.

To extinguish him.

 

_“Because… because you said you wanted a friend, right? I want that too!”_

He snatched at the words, finding them to be the only thing he was capable of holding onto. His mind was splitting in two. A divide opened inside him, void and lifeless. One half promised the before, but he could no longer return there. The other half promised the after, but it was a place foreign to him, where he could only be erased. He resisted it because he feared it, and instead let himself be tormented by the echoes of the before, across the chasm.

Nothing was familiar, and yet… and yet, he felt like he _knew_ who he was, where he was. It was like he was dreaming, but it hurt, it hurt so much.

Darkness swelled–

 

_One breath in._

 

–but he fumbled against it, clinging to the voices in his head, to the sight of red dripping between tiles. Eternities passed between seconds, pulling at the deepest parts of him, turning him from something to nothing to a part of something over and over, over and over.

 

_Breathe out._

 

And then, he let go. The ground opened wider, and light pierced through, but it was harsh and unfriendly. He tried to name what he was feeling, but felt nothing. Bits and pieces came back, tiny shards of something that was once mostly whole, just enough fragments to create an existence. 

Scenery began to filter into view in fits and spurts. He flickered, fought to find his footing, to determine what it was that was tying the fractured pieces of himself together. Walls slipped into existence, then floors, and an ascending staircase. He waded through the murkiness clouding his thoughts and tried to categorise what he could see. It was like someone had taken his head and spun it; a globe loose on its axis, a leaf tormented by a windstorm, himself. 

In the overwhelming fray of existence, he found a single thread that broke through it all.

A body.

Matted hair thinly concealed a wound too deep to be endured. Blood stained the floor, riveted in the tile cracks. It moved impossibly slow, like it was too thick for gravity to heave. He felt a ringing in his head as if he himself had suffered the fatal wound, but his thoughts were unfixed, and he could not relate his existence to that of one within a body like the one he stood before.

Time jerked forwards, like the snap of a rubber band pulled too tightly. People rushed around, dressed in white, frantic. He struggled to focus on them, unsure if it was his place, with no nameable emotion in him to spur his reactions. Vicious emotions threatened to engulf him, fringing on the very edge of his being, but they were not his own.

 _“Keith!”_ Shaking hands parted the dark hair around the wound. The man who had shouted was hunched, grief stiffening his shoulders. He pressed his fingers under the body’s chin, searching for – for what? He didn’t know, and pressed his own fingers under his chin, but found nothing.

Figures rushed through him. He breathed in, ragged, feeling his steadiness rush away. His knees crumbled, and the world went–

 

–he came to mere seconds later, reeling as his consciousness abruptly returned. It was with a sharp jolt that he realised he was not a permanent fixture, and that the short bursts of static he felt were _him,_ his very existence erasing and reforming itself. Something akin to panic flooded him, but without anything to grip onto, it faded.

He was not alive.

But he wasn’t un-alive, either.

His attention was drawn back to the man and the body. He didn’t think even a moment had passed since he’d looked away, if he ever had. People were rushing around it, carefully rolling it onto a stretcher. In a flash he was by its side, carefully touching his fingertips to the boy’s face. His listless eyes were cracked open, an unintentional consequence from his injury. Blood pooled in his hair and gushed down his cheek, the veins under his eyes and beneath his pale skin standing stark and frightfully thin. 

Sensation started to trickle back into him. He withdrew his hand and backed away. Something in him insisted that the sight of a body should repulse him, but no emotion sprung forth to comply. He couldn’t feel horrified at himself, not even when he thought he should be.

The body was wheeled away in a contained rush of panic. He watched it go in a daze, leaving behind only blood stains on the floor. The man who had crouched beside it remained where he was, standing as still as a tombstone. His chest was heaving, and his eyes were wet. He put his hands on the back of his head, but flinched when blood on them stained his hair. 

He looked like his soul have been carved in two.

And he felt it. Something about the man and his anguish hurt him, so much so that he felt a sound leave him. A feeling stirred in him, threatening to burn him alive. 

“Keith?” The man said. “Keith!”

 _He can see me,_ he thought, before he was swallowed by fire.

 

It was isolation, he decided. The word didn’t seem to fit quite right, but little did. Starvation, aloneness… he flinched at comfort but drowned in separation. It had to be those feelings that rushed through him. Loneliness tied him to the realm of living.

But something dark dwelled in the world of the dead. 

The more he existed, the more he felt it, lingering and haunting behind him. He was aware of it more than he was aware of his surroundings, like it had already consumed everything they could inhabit. How long had that shadow been here, eating everything it could? 

How long would it be until it ate him, too?

 

When he thought about it, the garden seemed untouchable. He found it on accident, he thought. Or rather, he woke up in it, with no recollection of how he’d gotten to it or how long he’d been asleep on its bench, bathed in blinding sunlight.

A cat mewled, looking for his attention. A name – _Red_ – ghosted through his mind. The cat pressed against his fingers, curling into the palm he held limply off the edge of the bench. It felt… familiar. Safe. This place wasn’t like the rest, where dark shadows threatened to consume him if he strayed too close. Here, he felt like he could fade away.

A voice called out to him. “Keith! Keith, are you here?”

He pushed himself upright. The cat skittered away, disappearing behind a potted plant. His legs swung off the bench, but he couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet. He wanted to be alone. He was always alone.

“Keith! Answer me, _please!”_

He clutched at his head, and hunched over his knees. A feral instinct rose up in him, urging him to answer the voice. Its owner was _important,_ the instinct pleaded. He must answer. But he’d shared his secrets before, and he never would again. They were dangerous things. “I can’t,” he said, dizzy with pain. He wasn’t- wasn’t _enough,_ didn’t have enough pieces of himself to give any away. 

Something banged on the entrance to the garden, demanding entrance. He ignored it harder, curling up tighter, tearing at his hair with shaking fingers. 

Maybe this place wasn’t as safe as he’d thought.

“Keith, please,” the voice begged. It had gone impossibly soft, weakened by emotions he wasn’t capable of naming.

Unbidden, he rose. The moment he considered relenting to the pleads of the voice, the garden opened, and he was suddenly face-to-face with a stranger. Cold hands cradled his face as blue eyes imploringly decoded his face. He felt too exposed, too raw under such a lively stare.

“Are you okay?” The stranger asked. Those eyes left no room for untruths. “What are you doing here? Keith?”

“Who’s Keith?” He muttered.

Fingers twitched against his cheeks. “What do you mean? You’re Keith.”

“I’m Keith,” he repeated. As soon as the words left him, a flood of familiarity washed over him. He closed his eyes, and breathed out deeply. That’s right, his name was Keith Kogane. “Who are you?”

The stranger’s hands fell away. “What?”

Something abruptly rocked the ground. Keith stumbled, but the stranger’s hands swiftly steadied him. Dark shadows spilled out from the stairwell leading up to the garden. They pushed against the edge of the open space, where sunlight touched the ground, like they were repelled by a glass wall. And then, abruptly, the shadows swelled, and broke through. Sunlight retreated as if stung, colouring the garden with night.

“We have to go,” the stranger rasped. The sight of the writhing, hissing shadows treading through the garden seemed to pain him, and the tortured look on his face sent a throb through Keith.

“Lance,” he whispered. This person wasn’t a stranger, it was _Lance._ This was Lance’s garden. 

Lance’s eyes darted over to him, stricken. He stumbled backwards, dragging Keith with him, as something began to tear up the staircase. Heavy thumps shook the fracturing ground, and then an unbearably large, clawed hand wrenched at the doorframe. A lurching figure appeared, it’s back hunched, face obscured by impenetrable shadows. 

Fear sheared through Keith.

(Isolation drove him to linger, but fear forced him onwards.)

“The garden-” Lance groaned, face pale and drawn tight. He suddenly looked so exhausted that Keith was flooded with guilt. 

He’d been giving into it, whatever this was. Death, maybe. He’d let himself fade, all this time, when he could have been fighting. Like Lance.

“We have to go,” Keith said. It wasn’t safe, not if the monster had broken through. He shook Lance’s grip off his arms and instead took Lance’s hands in his own. His cold skin no longer burned.

Lance’s fingers tightened around his. They’d backed against the furthest wall away from the door, where the last rays of white light separated them from the monster and its untamed hunger. Pieces of existence were rushing back to Keith, and he scrambled to remember what he was meant to do. Where could they go? They were trapped. He could feel Lance shaking, driven half to death by the hungry pull of the monster. 

Whatever it was, it had consumed everything in the hospital.

Maybe even half of Lance, too.

Keith closed his eyes. The garden was Lance’s haven, a place from his memory they were readily transported to. A place to hide, because they could not run from the monster.

But they didn’t need to, he thought frantically. They just needed to hide. 

A place emerged from his scattered memories. He crushed Lance’s fingers between his own, and closed his eyes. His breath caught, frozen, but he let his fear overcome him. The last wedge of sunlight bled away, and the monster roared, deafeningly violent. Everything disappeared. 

The garden had perished.

But they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I meant to update this a week ago, but the day I scheduled to finish writing this chapter, I got into a pretty serious car accident. It was completely my fault, and it's left me pretty shaken. No one was hurt, and that's what important, but the damage was very expensive (I pretty much lost all of my savings... which kinda sucks), and I just couldn't bring myself to write any scenes that were full of fear or adrenaline. 
> 
> Either way, I'm still pleased with how this chapter turned out. It's been one of the hardest to write only because I was unsure how to approach the first half. I hope it turned out okay, and that there is still a bit of a mystery to unravel! I enjoy hearing what everyone thinks is to come aha


	26. The Chasm Between Life And Death

“Where is this? Keith, are you listening?”

His head spun. Keith groaned as he sat upright, waiting for the world to stop rearranging itself. Lance helped heave him up, hands tight around Keith’s arm. Keith blinked at him. “Are you alright?” He asked, as he held onto Lance’s jacket.

“I’m fine. Where are we, Keith? What happened?”

Keith looked around. For a moment, he didn’t recognise the room, and the words were on his tongue to say so, but then he remembered. This was his childhood home. Or a part of it, anyway. The living room. 

“This is my home,” he said, eyes fixed anywhere but Lance. It was exactly how he remembered it. Couches straight out of expensive lifestyle magazines and the glass coffee table sat like chess pieces in the centre of the room. His eyes roamed over the bare walls, the sleek mantle framing the cold fireplace, the glass doors that separated him from the outside world where he knew lay a garden carefully tended to by his mother. 

“It’s so empty,” Lance said.

“It’s always been this way.” Empty or not, Keith felt a spark of something he thought he’d long since buried at the sight of his home – longing. He knew his parents hadn’t treated him like parents normally treated their children, knew that their relationship was distant and sometimes cold, but it still felt _powerful._ They were his parents, and he couldn’t bring himself to forget the gentle moments they’d had. He wasn’t ashamed to need his parents, but he was ashamed to want them after everything they hadn’t done. Maybe if he’d been normal they could have loved him.

“Why are we here?” Lance asked.

Keith’s mind scrambled for an answer. “That monster at the hospital- whatever it was, it destroyed your garden.”

A pained look crossed Lance’s face. “For good?”

Keith nodded. 

Lance clenched his jaw. “That garden was just like the one on top of the nursing home where my grandmother lived,” he murmured. “I spent hours up there with her.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispered. He knew that the ghost had absorbed the garden; that it no longer existed. It was likely the same for the other ghosts in the hospital. Whatever was left of them had been consumed, worn away to nothing. Lance had only survived because the garden was safe, like a pocket separate from the living-hospital and the dead-hospital. In a way, it had died.

And soon this place would, too.

“We can’t stay here for long,” Keith said. Dark shadows were already creeping in at the edges of his vision, pushing against the glass doors and congealing in the corners of the room. Soon this clean, white haven would be nothing.

“Where do we go?” Lance despaired. 

Keith glanced towards the hallway. “Up.”

Lance didn’t protest as Keith dragged him through the house by the hand. Rooms passed by in a blur of memories, and then Keith was shoving Lance into his old bedroom. When he closed the door, a wash of cold came over him, and he instinctively knew that at least for the moment, they were safe. Keith pressed his forehead against the door and let out a shaky exhale.

“Is this your room?” Lance asked. Keith turned around, and found Lance looking at the bed. He trailed his fingers across Keith’s old red bedsheets and lifted a hand to turn the mobile hanging from the ceiling. 

“It was,” Keith said. The room was exactly as he remembered it – even the packed suitcase at the end of the bed. This wasn’t the same room he’d left when he’d moved to the Garrison barracks, but it was the room that had always mattered to him the most. 

“From you childhood?” Lance asked. He didn’t need an answer as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Is this your safe space? Like my garden.”

“Must be,” Keith muttered. As safe as the room felt, it set his nerves on edge. This room represented both what he’d always wanted and what he’d gotten, two things that were nothing alike.

Keith glanced at Lance. He looked as paler than usual despite the darker tone of his skin and there were deep bags under his eyes. He looked exhausted. “You okay?”

“I feel like something bad is going to happen.” Lance clutched his arms. “Like I’m not meant to be here, or something.”

“That’s probably because this place belongs to me,” Keith said. 

“But my garden didn’t reject you, I brought you there.”

“It’s not the place itself, it’s the meaning behind it.” At least, that’s what he thought. “I never had friends over, never really left this room. It was a space just for me. It still feels that way.”

Lance nodded. “Alright. Okay. So what do we do?”

Keith had never felt so lost. He touched a hand to the suitcase, thinking hard. “I’ve never been dead,” he finally said.

Lance’s head jerked up. “Keith…”

“But I was wrong, before,” he continued. He looked at Lance. “You’re not dead.”

Lance’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Your body – I saw it. At the hospital. Blue Ward.”

“Blue?”

“Comatose and long-term inpatients,” Keith said. “You’re in a coma.”

“But how?” Lance demanded, standing. “You said I was dead.”

“I thought you were!” Keith snapped, defensive. “I see ghosts, Lance, and ghosts are dead people! How was I meant to know that you’re in a coma?”

Lance shook his head. “That’s not the problem right now. If I was a coma-ghost, or whatever, and I couldn’t see other ghosts, then why can I see you?”

Keith paused. Lance being a coma-ghost seemed to answer all the questions he’d had – why Lance couldn’t see other ghosts, how he’d been oblivious to his own state of death. Keith wasn’t like that at all. There were no ghosts other than Lance for him to see and he was very much aware that somehow he had died. So what was he?

“That’s not the point,” Keith said. He rushed to get his words out before Lance could speak. “That’s never been the point. I don’t need to know what I am and I never have; being dead doesn’t change that. I need to figure out how to fix this.”

“Fix what? Me?”

“Any of this.” Keith swept his arm out. “That ghost from the hospital, it didn’t come out of nowhere. Ghosts don’t do that, especially not malicious ones. They always come from something, are always made from _something._ I just don’t know what.”

Lance swallowed. The frustrated sound was audible. “Sit down,” he said, “and tell me what you know.”

Keith hesitated, and gave Lance a vulnerable look over his shoulder. He’d never told anyone about all the things he’d seen. There’d been times he’d wanted to, especially to Shiro, but the whole truth? That was something buried deep inside him behind layers of fear and anxiety that he didn’t want to unravel.

“Keith,” Lance whispered. 

His voice was an embrace that Keith couldn’t help but fall into.

So he sat on the edge of the bed and he told Lance what he knew. About ghosts, about dying, about what he remembered from his earliest years when he realised the people he could see were invisible to everyone else. He told Lance about how ghosts moved on, and how they were held down by a single emotion, but how that didn’t make them inherently bad.

“So it’s not like the movies?”

The joke made Keith smile a little. “No, not like the movies. Not usually.”

“And when they’re unusual?”

He told Lance about the bad ghosts, the ones that were around for too long or the ones that hated too fervently. “I haven’t come across them a lot, but they give me these nightmares. I can never remember what I dream, or who I dream of. They’re… terrifying. I wake up screaming sometimes and Shiro always treated me like glass because he somehow knew when it was happening.”

“You were having a nightmare when I woke you up,” Lance realised. “All those weeks ago.”

Keith nodded. 

“Whose were they?”

“The dreams? I thought they belonged to a bad ghost, but I hadn’t know which,” Keith said. “When the monster from before started to show up, I thought that might have been it.”

“But you don’t think that anymore,” Lance summarised.

Keith nodded again.

“Then what do you think?”

“I think they were your dreams.”

Lance frowned, leaning away. Sometime during Keith’s hazardous explanation he’d put his hand on Keith’s knee, but he drew it away then. “I’m not evil,” he said.

“I know,” Keith rushed to reassure him. “But you’re different. I think those nightmares were from when you died.”

Lance’s eyes widened. “You dreamed of my death?”

“I can’t be sure,” Keith said. “Ghosts are never able to remember everything about their lives. Most of them passes on when they die – it’s why there’s only one thing holding them back. I think however you died is what’s strong enough to keep you here, but your body being alive complicates things. Before I- _died,_ I _know_ I dreamed of it. I just can’t remember what I dreamed.”

“Then…” Lance turned back towards him. “Then it’s my missing memories blocking you from remembering your dreams, right? If I’m the one giving them to you, and you’re dreaming of my death, then whatever that thing back at the hospital is… is connected to me. Not you.”

Keith nodded.

Lance let out a shaky breath. “Okay. Okay, so I just need to remember, right? How I died?”

“I don’t know if you can,” Keith said. “And if you do remember, then you might not exist anymore. I don’t know if your body is still alive and what would happen to you if you come to terms with whatever is keeping you here.”

“Keith, what else can we do? If we stay here, that monster is going to devour us, just like it did to my garden.”

“And to the other ghosts at the hospital,” Keith whispered. If Lance could uncover how he died and the connection he had to the monster, then they could leave. Escape. It would be like packing a suitcase and changing houses – move from death to life without the chasm blocking whatever was in between the two. Go around the monster. 

How could he get Lance to dream the dreams he’d unknowingly projected onto Keith?

And if he could, then what would happen to Keith? He didn’t even know what had happened to his body, or if he was really dead. 

“I have to try,” Lance said. He took Keith’s hands. His were shaking. “Tell me how to do it, Keith. I want to remember.”

Keith was no expert in remembering things, he knew that. “Lay down,” he said anyway. “You have to remember how you died. You don’t need to dream, you just need to remember. Don’t… don’t fight it anymore.”

Lance moved back on the bed. He seemed gaunt and hollow as he rested his head on the pillows and closed his eyes. He turned his wrist, exposing his palm, and Keith slipped his fingertips across it. 

Downstairs, a low growling noise began.

Keith closed his eyes too.

“I don’t want to die,” Lance whispered.

“You already did,” Keith whispered back, “but you’re one stubborn idiot.”

Lance managed a weak snort. “If I do wake up in my body, will I remember any of this?” He paused and licked his lips. “Will I remember you?”

When Shiro had died, he didn’t remember a thing about being a ghost. As much as Lance had proven to be different, nothing ever worked out that happily. A wave of selfishness rose in Keith, one that wished Lance would remain as he was, that the burden of Keith’s secrets would no longer be just his own.

But he couldn’t do that to Lance.

So he lied. “Yes,” he said, “you’ll remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of explanation in this chapter, I hope it makes sense! I expect there will only be a handful of chapters left for this fic, but there's still more answers to be found for Keith and Lance ^^


	27. The Moment Of Impact

Keith watched Lance close his eyes, but he didn’t sleep. He wasn’t sure that people could fall asleep in dreams, but even if it was possible, it wasn’t what they needed. But he shouldn’t be focusing on that now. He needed Lance to remember.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Keith whispered. His voice made the pinched crease in Lance’s brow lessen. He traced his fingertips over the lines in Lance’s open palm and waited for the tenseness to ease out of him before he flattened his palm. Lance’s hand was only a little bigger than his.

“I’m trying,” Lance said.

“It’s like falling asleep, but without the sleeping.” Keith glanced up as the paintings on his walls rattled. He tried not to let them rattle him, too. 

Lance let out an uneasy exhale. He didn’t hear the noises brewing below as his mind slipped away into memory.

 

_“Polly?”_

_“I’ve got her,” Lance called over his shoulder, as he swept the laughing girl into his arms. The breathless nurse shot him a relieved look. Polly only squirmed, leaning her soft face against his. Lance smiled. “What are you doing here, kitten? You’re meant to be in your room!”_

_“But it’s boring in there,” Polly whined. Her little fingers twisted in the collar of Lance’s Garrison uniform. “Why can’t we go sit outside? I want to be with you.”_

_Lance hesitated, but shook his head. He hated disappointing her so much. “Sorry Pol, I have to get back to work. I’ll come visit you afterwards though, alright?”_

_Polly frowned._

 

Lance gasped for air as his eyes snapped open. “Polly?”

“It’s just me, Lance,” Keith said. He felt dizzy, overwhelmed by Lance’s memory and the way it lingered in his mind. How could he not have realised that the little girl he saw at the hospital was Lance’s sister? He can feel Lance’s emotions like an aftertaste in his heart. It shouldn’t have been possible for one single person to love another like Lance loved his sister. He tried not to feel like he’d intruded on something pure. “You were in the Garrison.”

“I was?” Lance’s voice was airy, then firm. “I was, yeah.”

Keith pursed his lips to stop himself from telling Lance that he was a part of the Garrison, too. It wouldn’t help either of them if Lance knew that now. Not if they were both dead. “Your sister is cute,” he said, weak. 

“You can see my memories?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” Lance swallowed, then licked his lips. “It’s fine. Really.” His fingers curled around Keith’s, tentative and shaking. This was something pure, too. Keith didn’t draw away. Lance’s skin had always left him cold, but then, only warmth blossomed from his fingertips.

 

_The room felt stuffy. Lance fiddled with his collar, and popped the first button free. His heart felt like it had climbed into his throat. He hoped it didn’t show on his face. He knew he was stepping into dangerous territory, that he should have just kept his mouth shut, but it wasn’t right._

_He wouldn’t back down. Couldn’t anymore even if he’d wanted to, anyway._

_He’d already told Iverson about what he’d overheard when he’d been in the hospital visiting Polly. There was no feasible reason he could think of about why the Galra soldiers had been there, about why Sendak had been there. He’d only ever heard tales of the Galra commander with one arm, the one that was brutal and underhanded and loyal only to Zarkon, even above other Galra cadets. Maybe they were at the hospital checking Sendak’s prosthetic, or interviewing one of their soldiers, but Lance just didn’t know. He just knew that they were there and he’d uncovered something he wasn’t meant to._

_It just hadn’t made sense, so he’d told Iverson, and now here he was. He slipped into place between other Garrison cadets, only mildly comforted by their orange uniforms. It was clear he was out-ranked by everyone in the room – his young face and slim physique marked him as out of place._

_And guilty of overhearing Sendak. Why else would someone of his rank be there?_

_He was pretty sure his face couldn’t hide that guilt, either. He had nothing to be guilty over, except the fact that he’d probably ruined a huge Galra plan. Maybe it was less guilt and more bone-chilling fear._

 

“What did you do, Lance?” Keith whispered to himself. He was feeling nauseated as he flickered in and out of Lance’s memories, and hunched over his knees to try and drive the feeling away. 

Lance didn’t answer. His eyes were pinched closed, and his chest seemed frighteningly still, even though Keith could feel his pulse racing in his wrist. Keith knew that it was painful to be faced with memories previously forgotten, that it could feel like glass sliding beneath skin, like someone was being pulled apart and reassembled wrong. As difficult as seeing Lance’s memories was for him, it was worse for Lance.

No matter how much he wished it wasn’t.

 

_“… It’s not right! Shouldn’t we inform…”_

_“This is secret intel. It’s impossible…”_

_“… not impossible! If we…”_

_“That could work…”_

_“No! I know what I heard.”_

_“It decided. We can no longer go through with…”_

_“… I apologise, Sendak, but Lance is correct in…”_

_The words were fuzzy. Lance tried to focus on them, tried to force the memory to become clear, but he was spinning out of control. He wasn’t reliving it anymore. He was watching it. There were some things that not even dreams could hold onto, and just like he forgot what he’d last had for dinner or what colour his childhood bedroom had been painted or which remote worked for which flight simulation, he had forgotten the exact words that had been spoken._

_Being in a dream and realising he was dreaming was the worst thing he’d ever felt._

_But as shaky as his memory was, what had happened was slowly coming back to him. Death – or a coma, or whatever this was – was no longer a barrier in his mind. Humans by nature couldn’t remember everything they’d ever seen or heard, not even if it was important, but he could still remember the outcome of what had happened. Of that conversation._

_And he was pretty sure it was his death._

 

It took Keith a moment to settle back into himself. His mind felt unanchored from his body, becoming more and more adrift as every memory washed through him. This one was familiar, one he’d seen perfectly before – right after he’d seen Lance’s body in the Blue Ward.

Pieces were starting to fall into place, like keys fitting locks. Lance had overheard something he shouldn’t have, something the Galra soldiers were discussing at the hospital. It must have been pure coincidence that Lance heard whatever he heard, an in-the-wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time kind of situation. He was only at the hospital to visit his sister.

And for whatever reason, the Galra had been there, too.

When Keith wracked his brain trying to remember the name Sendak, he couldn’t come up with much. Either he’d too heard little of the man or his mind simply hadn’t retained much of what he had heard. He knew that Sendak was highly ranked in the Galra, an organisation that rivalled the Garrison. Where the Garrison was trustworthy and honest, the Galra was deceitful and greedy. The Garrison prioritised safe training and exploration in the name of human advancement and science. The Galra did it for profit.

Whatever had happened to Lance had to be Sendak’s doing. If Lance exposed Sendak’s plans – to do what? Blackmail someone? Steal something? It could have been anything – then Sendak wasn’t the type of person to remain silent. 

He was the type of person to kill to keep a secret.

 

_“This conversation is over,” Iverson said. He ranked the highest of the Garrison in the room, and even if he was currently training cadets, he used to fly and lead entire squadrons. There was something terrifying about the hard planes of his face that had nothing to do with his impossible training regimes. “The Garrison has already been informed of your plans, Sendak, as have Altea Industries and every other company involved. It’s over.”_

_Something twisted on Sendak’s face. Lance had trouble remembering him clearly, but he could still feel Keith tracing his hand from somewhere far away, and the reassurance of his touch eased the memory forth._

_Sendak was like an iron wall. Towering, broad, with a mouth naturally down-set and a grin that showed all of his teeth and tugged too far at his cheeks. He was a man with two expressions: calm, collected anger, and an expression that reminded Lance of the joy feral animals had when they toyed with their squirming, bleeding prey._

_If that wasn’t bad enough, then the prosthetic arm only made Sendak even more villainous._

_Lance had heard the rumours. He was social, and rumours always came to social people like him. Even if the rumours were about terrifying Galra captains. Some people claimed that Sendak had lost his left arm in a flight accident. Others insisted that he’d lost it in a war, and that the resulting trauma had turned him into what he was now. But under those rumours was the undercurrent of something worse, something Lance had only heard whispered once or twice by people who had come up against the Galra personally._

_“They say that Zarkon cut the arm off himself,” they’d whispered, hunched over their words like leaves curling away from the blaze of a wildfire. “That Sendak failed a mission and Zarkon punished him by turning him into the monster he wanted.”_

_It sounded farfetched. Unreal. Like a rumour._

_But a scared little part of Lance believed it. The prosthetic that Sendak had was misshapen and too large. If one looked closely enough it was easy to see that the prosthetic was a couple of inches longer than his remaining arm. That the hard was bigger. The joints rounder. No attempt had been made to create the prosthetic into the likeness of something human. Something normal._

_It was something that befitted a monster._

 

A monster with a misshapen prosthetic arm. 

Keith sunk his teeth into his lip to quell a pained groan as the rumbling of a monster echoed through the house. He couldn’t tell if the ground was shaking or if he was shaking. The room was starting to tilt on its axis, to twist and writhe as dark shadows wicked at the corners. 

This _thing_ hunting them, it was Sendak. The ghost that haunted his nightmares and attacked Lance in his dreams and devoured all the ghosts at the hospital was Sendak. Keith dug his fingernails into Lance’s hand as the sensation of falling down the stairs rushed through him.

The monster that killed him was Sendak.

 

_“You shouldn’t have said anything, little whelp,” Sendak said, as he stalked towards the door._

_The Garrison soldiers on either side of Lance stepped away, like magnets pushed apart. Sendak had Lance pinned with nothing more than his jagged voice. As stiff as Lance made his spine and as determined as he could get his face to sit, nothing could hide the cold trickles of fear scorching his nerves._

_Sendak put his hand on Lance’s shoulder. The fingernails on his prosthetic were like claws. The hand was so big it completely encompassed his shoulder, and the weight of Sendak leaning down to whisper in his head made his spine feel like it was breaking._

_“That sister of yours is… small, is she not? Like a stray caught underfoot, so easy to crush. If only you’d kept your mouth shut…”_

_Lance whipped around, but no words left his mouth as Sendak and the Galra soldiers stormed from the room. The door was slammed against the wall so hard that it rattled on its hinges, and everyone left in the room aside from Iverson flinched._

_Polly…_

 

The door was rattling. Keith watched it with bleary eyes that slipped in and out of focus. At some point Lance’s fingers had curled around his wrist and were digging crescent-shaped marks into his skin. 

He couldn’t help but wrap his fingers around Lance’s wrist, too. 

 

_“Where’s my sister?” Lance demanded. He was holding the nurse by her shoulders, on the verge of shaking her to get answers. “Where is she?”_

_“I-I don’t know- outside maybe-”_

_Lance jerked away. He knew this hospital back-to-front, knew that Polly’s room was closest to the garden by the road. There was a lump in his throat and a rock in his stomach and his veins felt like they were on fire. Walls and corridors and the entrance doors passed in a frantic blur._

_Polly was crouched by the side of the road, picking dandelions. She had her lion toy tucked under her arm. A childish song hummed from her lips. The sun made her glow with innocence._

_A truck rumbled at the end of the street. Time slowed down as Lance fought to run faster, to get to his little sister before the Galra vehicle did. His shouts felt loud but he couldn’t hear them. Would Sendak really do this? Hurt a child?_

_But Lance knew the answer already._

_“Polly!” He screamed as the truck careened off the side of the road. It bumped against the gutter but made it to the pavement with ease just as Lance reached Polly. He grabbed her under her arms and threw her back like a ragdoll, praying that she hit the grass and not the concrete. Her frightened cries made his soul ache._

_He didn’t feel it when the car hit him, or when he was thrown hard against the gravel of the road. He didn’t feel anything. One moment he was pushing Polly to safety, and the next he was slumped in the centre of the road, watching the truck skid across the gutter and crumple around a telegraph pole._

_A side mirror skittered across the pavement and the glass windows shattered, spraying the street in debris as the driver’s door hung by one edge. Sendak was hunched in the seat, exposed by the broken door. He was covered in glass. Blood dripped from a skull-deep gash across his forehead, matched by a smear on the smashed windshield. His neck was twisted at a grotesque angle. Smoke billowed out from one rumbled edge of the hood, and the side that hadn’t hit the pole was dented, too – that was him, Lance realised. Where the car had hit him._

_A rushed exhale left his lungs. He wheezed once and immediately regretted breathing at all. He couldn’t feel his legs and the ear that was crushed against the road was ringing, but he could still hear Polly’s screams. Her lion toy sat wilted by a handful of crumbled dandelions._

_They were a weed, he thought. What beauty could she see in a weed?_

_It was the last thing he thought before he died._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a long time to write mostly because I had to keep going back and rereading all the previous dreamscapes to pull out the most important parts. I hope that what I was aiming to express has come across well enough. Writing Lance's dreams was especially difficult. This chapter is also a little longer than the rest because I didn't want to cut off the last dream. I hope the wait was worth it!


	28. The Means To An End

Little earthquakes ran through him. 

Keith was shaking and everything _hurt_ and it wouldn’t stop. Eternities felt like they were passing before he was himself again, before he was untangled from Lance’s cloying memories. They felt like pinpricks of ice in his veins, splintered and permanent. 

There was nothing poetic about Lance’s death, nothing quick or closing. He hadn’t _died._ He’d been run over by a car and thrown against the pavement.

It was _murder._

Keith’s stomach churned. He looked at Lance and felt something painful twist in his chest. Lance’s expression was strangled, his head turned away, one arm hiding his eyes. His lips were pinched in that way that meant he was forcing back tears.

“That’s how I died?” Lance croaked. “I got _run over?”_

“Lance…” Keith started, but didn’t know what to say. What could he say? He felt sick just thinking about it. Everything in him ached to comfort Lance, to take back Lance’s memories so that he never had to be hurt by them. He wanted to help Lance, but he didn’t know _how,_ and his own inadequacies left him frustrated and angry. 

All he could do was hold Lance’s hand, so he did.

“My sister,” Lance said, after he swallowed a deep gulp of air. “My sister, is she okay?”

“I met her,” Keith said. He wasn’t sure if it was fate or circumstance that brought Polly to him, but he didn’t believe in coincidences, and if telling Lance about her would make him feel better, then he wanted to do it. “She’s… little. And her eyes are big and blue. She told me she was visiting her brother, and that his name is Lion, and she misses him.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Lance’s lips. He couldn’t keep it for long, but it was enough. “Is she okay?”

Keith hesitated. “She’s- she’s okay.”

Lance sucked in another ragged breath. “Okay.”

A booming noise from behind the bedroom door dragged Keith back to the problem at hand. He didn’t know how long Lance’s memories had taken from them, but it could have only been moments, because the shadows seeping in at the corners hadn’t crept much closer. He couldn’t say the same about the monster – about Sendak – though. 

Lance sat up, a worried furrow in his brow. They both watched the door rattle like it was going to fly off its hinges. “That’s the guy that killed me,” he said. “The Galra officer.”

Sendak had died in the car accident, and had been stuck at the hospital ever since. If there had been any bad spirit at all, then it was him – he’d hated Lance or the circumstances around his death or just _hated_ and those feelings had mangled and corrupted whatever was left of him. There was nothing human, nothing even remotely mortal about whatever he was now. And Keith didn’t know how to defeat that. He’d never even really defeated ghosts in the first place. He didn’t know where they went after they died, if they didn’t become ghosts, or where ghosts went in turn.

Part of him believed they ceased to exist. Another part of him didn’t want to believe that.

“Any ideas?” Lance asked, leaning closer. He flinched when another round of deep growls began to reverberate. “How do you slay ghosts?”

Keith gave him a puzzled look.

“Incantations? Holy water? Summon an angel?”

“It’s not like in movies,” Keith said. “I’ve never gotten rid of a ghost. The only way to help them pass on is to fulfil whatever desire is keeping them here. Like saying goodbye to a loved one, or- or getting revenge, or something.”

Lance frowned. “What if I’m keeping him here?”

And just like that, the pieces seemed to slide into place. As much as Keith wanted to blame Sendak’s line of work or the untimely car accident or even wish that he had a loved one he wanted to see one last time, it couldn’t be that. It couldn’t be something so simple when Sendak had evolved and mutated into a monster capable of consuming other ghosts and destroying realms inside the heads of coma patients.

So it had to be Lance. It had to be the person that led him to dying, even if he was the one driving the truck in the first place. Lance is the one who overheard him revealing sensitive information, the one that caused him to lose the Galra’s important connections with the Garrison, the one that angered his boss. And who was Lance to him? It was like asking who a minnow was to a great white. 

“If I wasn’t here – hypothetically,” he was quick to add, when Keith gave him a frightened stare, “what would happen? I’m keeping Sendak here, so if the object of his vengeful feelings was removed, he’d have nothing keeping him here. Right?”

“I don’t know,” Keith said. “I’ve always avoided bad ghosts, I’ve never helped them. Sometimes they burn out, or something I’ve done has been just enough to unravel them, but I’ve never actively tried. It’s only through the nightmares they give me that I even know they’re around.”

“We have to try something,” Lance insisted. He stood, suddenly full of dripping, restless energy. He paced the length of Keith’s childhood bed. “Anything, Keith.”

He knew that, he did, but thinking about it made him feel suffocated by panic. If he couldn’t save Lance, then he’d die here, and never return to his body. There was no guarantee that Keith himself even had a body to return to, not if he’d actually died. And if this place, this room from his memory, was destroyed when Sendak either consumed it or was removed from it, then he didn’t know what would happen to him. 

He’d probably die, too.

“Keith,” Lance said, softer this time. He stood in front of Keith, hiding his view of the door, and touched his palms to Keith’s jaw. He didn’t let Keith’s eyes go to the shadows, not even when they started to stretch. “You’ve done it before, remember? Saved me. In the courtyard when Sendak first cornered me, you came out of nowhere and you had that tree branch and it was like – one moment I was going to die, and the next you were there, saving me.”

Keith clenched fistfuls of the bed sheets. Lance was so close and the warmth from his palms was melting the ice in Keith’s veins.

“I trust you, Keith,” Lance confessed. “I don’t know why, exactly, but I do. You’re all I’ve got, Keith. No one else could see me, no one else could help me. You didn’t have to. If you’d kept pretending that you hadn’t seen me, I would have believed it. But you helped me instead, even though I was making your life horrible.”

“It wasn’t horrible,” Keith said after a moment. It had been embarrassing, but he didn’t regret it, not when he thought about it. Lance felt like too great a prize to give up.

The door began to rattle again, making Lance flinch. Keith stood, putting his arm out to hide Lance as darkness seeped beneath the door. It was coiling around anything it touched, rotting away parts of Keith’s childhood that he feared he’d never get back. How close was Sendak? How much longer would the door hold? There was no way that Keith’s memories from his childhood, that whatever it was that made this place so special to him, was anything strong enough to deter a monster.

But maybe Lance could be.

Something about what he’d said settled like a flower in Keith’s chest, soft and delicate, fragile and blooming. He closed his eyes for a moment, let Lance wash over him like sunshine. Lance trusted him. He was all Lance had.

It was bleak, it was twisted, and it was pitiful. Lance was desperate for help but a little part of Keith, the part where flowers could bloom, believed that Lance was desperate for _him._

Maybe he was. Keith had always wanted to feel needed, to be a person that someone else couldn’t live without. His parent’s love hadn’t been enough and after Shiro’s death, nothing had been the same between them. Not even the ghosts made Keith feel like he was important, and he was the only person who’d ever been able to see them. To them, he’d just been a fleeting conversation, a bridge to tread across, a means to an end.

And maybe that’s all he’d ever be – an end.

Because he was pretty sure he didn’t have a body to go back to.

But he wouldn’t tell Lance that.

He broke away from Lance and turned to look at his room. There had to be something, anything that could help. If a branch had been enough before, then surely anything would do. He tore open the dresser pushed against the far wall, but only found empty drawers. It had once been filled with clothes, but they weren’t important to him, and hadn’t ever been. This room was a culmination of importance, of things he wished he had, or had once been grateful for. Red sheets his mother had picked out for him, a photo of him as a baby with his father on the nightstand, a spinning mobile of hanging stars and spaceships Shiro had given to him.

“What are you doing?” Lance asked, as he watched Keith tear apart the drawers.

“Looking for something – anything,” he said. “It was a tree branch before, right? I just need anything to–” he cut himself off. _To defend us,_ was left unsaid. He thought, _to save you,_ but kept that to himself as well.

Lance didn’t ask any more questions. The snarls were getting worse and the thin sound of splinters snapping was slowly becoming more alarming. He dove towards the nightstand and tore apart its drawers, but revealed nothing but a red lion toy Keith had forgotten all about and a photo album only half-filled with pictures.

When the only vessel left unchecked in the room was the chest at the end of the bed, Keith and Lance shared a look. A child wouldn’t have hidden toys in a drawer; they would have hidden them in a toy box.

Keith undid the metal clasps that held the chest closed and pried it open. Inside were a pile of folded blankets, the ones he’d drag around the house or wear as a cape. A red ball sat on top of them, beside a little tin he knew held his favourite marbles. Everything he laid his eyes on made something crack inside him, like he was prying into someone else’s life, shuffling through memories that were his, but not quite. 

Everything he found was given to him or owned by him before Shiro died. Before his parent’s had realised something was truly wrong with him, that it wasn’t just imaginary friends. Before Keith starting believing that something was really wrong with him, too.

And it hurt to look at them. It made him recoil, like he always did. Everyone at the Garrison had called him a lone wolf and they hadn’t been wrong.

“What about this?” Lance asked. He reached into the chest and pulled out a wooden sword. It had once been painted red and gold, but with age the paint had chipped. As a child he’d waved it around like he was a knight pretending to save friends he hadn’t had. He’d held it at night like it would keep the bad ghosts away. The handle was so worn that the wood had lost some of its shape and there was no paint left at all. 

It wasn’t a real sword, but it would do.

He took it from Lance and let the chest slam shut. “Maybe it can be like the movies after all,” he said. 

Realisation fluttered over Lance’s face. “Keith, what are you planning?”

“A means to an end,” he said.


	29. The Deafening Silence Of A Heart No Longer Beating

As a child, his mother’s heartbeat had comforted him. Keith would rest his head on her chest, or press his ear against her skin when he shrunk into the crook of her neck, seeking comfort. It was a sound he’d barely been able to hear, but it had been there nevertheless. Sometimes, when his parents were out and he was alone, he’d listen to his own heart beating, fascinated by the feel of it beneath the thin skin of his wrist or in his fingertips. A rhythmic, constant _thump thump thump thump_ that sounded like a drum and pulsed with warmth and safety.

Now his heartbeat was nothing but the thunderous sound of _fear._

“Keith?” Lance hissed, as he scrambled upright. “What are you doing? Keith!”

“Stay there,” Keith said, as he shut the bedroom door. Lance sounded so far away that something in Keith began to ache. Shutting the door separated them, locked Lance away in the place Keith felt the safest. Even if that meant being alone with Sendak, if it meant leaving Lance to keep him safe, then Keith would do it.

A small part of him hoped that the hallway would be empty when he stepped out into it, but it wasn’t. Dark shadows dripped from the walls and congested in corners, rotting away pieces of his childhood inch by inch. The stairwell at the end of the hallway was completely gone. A lick of ice went down his spine, like someone had breathed frost onto the back of his neck. Reflexively, his fingers tightened around the hilt of the toy sword.

But where was Sendak?

There was a growl from what had been the stairs, something low and mutilated, a sound that made all the little parts of him sore, like when his nails ached after someone else dragged theirs down a chalkboard. Keith’s eyes searched the shadows, trying to pick out a shape, but the shadows were moving and impossible to properly make out. Trying made his eyes blurry, but he stubbornly refused to rub them.

Like Sendak could sense his unease, the growls distorted into deep, raspy laughter. It rung in Keith’s ears and he whirled around wildly, looking for the source. It came from all angles, from behind him and then in front and everywhere. Keith was so scared that his heartbeat was deafening in between his ears.

Suddenly, Sendak appeared out of the black mass of the stairwell. There was no way to describe what he had become. He was monstrously tall and still growing, one moment six feet, the next nearly ten. His left arm was oversized and bulging, with long claws tapering off from each finger. It nearly reached the floor with his hunched shoulders and lumbering stance. Keith knew that Sendak had had a misshapen prosthetic when he was alive, but death had ruined him even more.

He didn’t want to know what had happened to Sendak to leave him with that arm.

A hungry, gasping snarl left Sendak. He lurched forwards, his jaw stretching wide open, like it was completely unhinged. Dread gripped Keith’s mind. Frozen, he could only watch as Sendak came for him.

It was like being shrouded in fire. Keith’s skin burned where the shadows touched him, and the pain was enough to make him rear back. Something thick and hot was surging through him, making him slow and stiff, dragging him down beneath a dreamy wall that he couldn’t push back against. Sendak’s claws felt like glass when they pierced Keith’s skin, and suddenly, Keith was thrust back into a dream.

He was stuck in the hallway at the hospital that overlooked the street where Lance had died, a wall of windows on either side of him. The memory was so jarring that he could do nothing to stop Sendak from pushing him through the window again.

The glass shattered into a thousand pieces.

Keith fell, and fall, and fell.

His back hitting the hallway floor slammed him back into the present. Sendak’s claws were stuck in his arm and shoulder, and every time he reared his misshapen arm back, he dragged Keith with him. Keith shoulders hit the floor again, and he cried out in pain.

“Keith? Keith!”

_Lance._

Sendak jerked upright, his claws leaving Keith’s skin with a wet, sickening noise. Blood seeped through his dark shirt, making the fabric sticky. Keith sucked in a wheezing, tight breath, and then lurched upright, pushing Sendak back. There was nothing solid to grab onto, nothing to push against except the burning feeling of thick air beneath his palms. For a moment he almost fell back, back to the ground and back to a memory fighting to take him under, but Lance’s voice held him fast.

If he died here, then Lance would die, too. There was no telling how long his life support would stay on; he _needed_ to get back to his body. If there was one person who was not going to die, then Keith would be damned sure it would be Lance.

So he pushed harder. His hands never came across anything tangibly solid, never felt a chest or a prosthetic or anything physical, but _something_ was there. He fumbled for the wooden sword, and tore it free from the rotten shadows it had skidded into when he’d dropped it. Paint chips stuck to his palm. The sword was rotting away, just like the rest of his dream world.

It wouldn’t be enough.

But it had to be enough. Pain pulled at his wounds, but it felt distant, like it was happening to a body that wasn’t his own. He swung the sword, and it cleaved through Sendak’s right arm, severing the shadows with a sound like wind scraping against metal. Keith scrambled away as Sendak let out a roaring shriek, so loud that it made the house shake.

Sendak stumbled back several feet, but the gaping wound in his arm didn’t slow him. The shadows where the sword had collided with him parted and made no move to reknit themselves. It drew Keith’s attention, his focus becoming narrower and narrower, until the thumping of his heart faded away.

Once, Lance had told him that as a child, screaming when thunder broke had made him feel invincible. Keith hadn’t understood it then, but he felt that he was starting to, now. He felt no connection to the thunder, not like Lance had, but his heartbeat was just as loud, just as real, and the sound it made was just as frightening. 

With the sword in hand, Keith lunged forwards. The paint peeled away in glossy chunks, disappearing like shards of glittering glass caught by the sun’s glaring rays. The sword’s tip plunged into Sendak’s stomach and began to rot away, but it made contact; Keith could feel it in the jolt that ricocheted up his arm.

Sendak tipped forwards, his clawed hand circling around Keith’s shoulder like he weighed no more than a toothpick. Keith shouted as his arms were pinned to his sides, and swung his leg up, endlessly glad for mandatory combat training in the Garrison. His kick forced Sendak to uncurl his fingers, and Keith dropped to the ground. Sendak’s clawed hand came crashing down on top of him so fast he barely had time to lift the sword. His arms shook with the effort of keeping it up – Sendak was too strong, and every tremble from Keith’s elbows brought those pointed claws closer and closer to his face.

“Keith!”

He jumped at the sound of his name, and the claws scrabbled along his sword, knocking it out of the way. Sendak snarled and fell on top of him, his shifting shadows sinking straight through the floor. Keith rolled to the side, his arms curling protectively over his head as Sendak’s left hand tore apart the ground where he’d just been.

Lance had beaten the door down. The shadows had rotted away the hinges, and now the door lay decaying on the floor. Lance bolted over and snatched up the sword, letting out a grunt as he swung it at Sendak’s misshapen arm. It didn’t cut through it, not like it had before, instead pinging off like the toy it was.

The distraction was enough for Keith to squirm free. He snatched the sword back from Lance and pushed Lance back, his heart racing. “I told you to stay!” He snapped. Couldn’t Lance see how frightened Keith was? How sacred that his actions weren’t going to be enough, that anything he did _wouldn’t be enough?_

“I’m not leaving you,” Lance argued. “I won’t leave you.”

Keith closed his eyes as a wave of memories crowned over him. Everything disappeared in between one breath and the next, and then he was stuck in the lounge room, his legs too small to heave himself onto the couch in one go. 

Shiro-the-ghost sat across from him. He had that sad smile on his lips, the one that meant he was dead and he knew it because Keith could see him. “I won’t leave you,” he told Keith.

It was so familiar that every single part of Keith hurt. This was the moment when things had changed between them, when his Shiro had died and not all of him had come back and Keith’s protector had started to crumble. Even if Shiro repaired himself, even if he’d shielded Keith and nurtured Keith and loved him more than anyone else ever could, it wasn’t the same.

Because it wasn’t Shiro who’d changed.

It was Keith.

The shadows consumed the memory. The room was enveloped by black and poison-purple flames that burned up Shiro, like a piece of paper set alight. Keith was shaking when his consciousness slammed back into him, and the only thing keeping him upright was the pinpricks of pressure from Lance’s fingertips digging into his arms.

“You’re hurt,” Lance was saying, his voice pitched and frightened, “Keith, you’re hurt!”

“I know,” he ground out, “I can feel it.”

Sendak didn’t care if he was hurt or afraid. No, it only made him stronger. That rasping laughter built up again, overlaid on top of rumbles and snarls and growls that reverberated on top of one another, like a dozen voices at once. 

The world was crumbling. A stinging sensation tickled at the back of his mind, growing with each lurch of shadows along the wall. He gripped the sword tighter, feeling like each beat of his heart was another tick on a winding-down clock.

Lance’s fingers curled around his. His blue eyes were fear stricken, wide with something as unnameable as the surge of emotion in Keith’s chest. “Together,” he said. 

Keith was crumbling, too. 

When Sendak moved, they did too. His injured right arm slowed him down, just enough for Keith and Lance to get a proper grip on the tiny, rotting sword. Something as warm and as blue as Lance tingled along the wood, and with a scream loud enough to overpower Sendak’s deranged snarling, they thrust the sword straight through his chest. Sendak’s left hand swooped over their heads right as the tip of the sword burst through the other side of him.

 _This is my thunder,_ Keith thought. His heart was a drumming beat, like the rattle of a train losing its grip on its tracks.

Sendak hunched over them, and for a moment, the world was swallowed by dark shadows. Keith cried out but there was no sound, no hissing of flames or flutters of ash as heat burned straight through him.

Existence began to unravel.

Whatever was left of the monster started to peel off in threads, unravelling and expanding like a hurricane was tearing it from the inside out. Keith and Lance were thrown backwards as the walls and the floor cracked and flew away in fractures, like a shattered window. 

Keith’s heart beat steadily on.

Dark waves of black began to pulse from the monster. The sword splintered, sending needles of wood flying in every direction. The monster was breaking apart, disappearing, and all the ghosts he’d consumed were bursting away in waves of energy that battered through Keith like a drum hammer, over and over and over. The world unwrapped itself, piece by piece, erasing itself bit by bit. 

Keith’s heart beat steadily on.

The pain began as the monster burst apart. Keith dove for Lance, pulling him into his chest, arms wrapped tight around whatever part of him he could grab onto. The shockwaves hit his back and he cried out, his voice strained. Lance’s fingers scrambled against his arms, his eyes squeezed shut as never let go never let go never let go.

Keith’s heart beat steadily on.

Everything that the monster had consumed was separating. Nothing in Keith had ever been strong enough to create a safe place, had never been beautiful enough to produce a garden like Lance had been. Ripples of energy were dissipating, and everything that had rotted was falling out of existence, extinguishing like flames deprived of oxygen.

Soon, there was almost nothing left, and they were stuck in a hurricane of energy and flames and each other.

Keith’s heart beat steadily on.

Aches flooded through his veins. He cried out as wind whipped at his hair, and the last of his memories were disassembled. Thought by thought he was undone, until he felt like he was one hundred thoughts at once, and then none at all. He shook and trembled and hunched frozen over Lance as everything in him was torn into a thousand sharp pieces. 

He was crumbling away to the beat of his own heart.

“Keith!” Lance shouted over the noise of the monster’s undoing. His eyes were squinted against the onslaught, and his face was so close, _so close_ that Keith swore he could almost feel Lance’s breath against his lips. “Keith, please!”

Keith’s heart began to falter.

Lance’s hands clawed at his chest. Blood seeped from his wound, but it didn’t hurt. All the pain was inside, in the void he’d never been able to fill when he was alive. Keith couldn’t make sense of it, not when one half of him as alive – if what he was then could even be called that – and the other half had perished when his blood smeared across the cold hospital floor.

“Keith!” Lance screamed again. Keith’s arms were going slack, unable to keep them together when this world his mind had created was extinguishing itself.

Lance had never belonged here. He had a body to return to.

Keith did not.

A cool mouth pressed at the corner of his lips, rough and desperate. Lance was so close, so close, so close. The soft skin of Lance’s cheek slid across his, soft brown hair tangling with darker, coarser strands. Keith was so scared that Lance was close enough to hear his heart stop.

And then he was so alone that everything hurt.

And he just wanted to be forgotten.

And everything ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a long time to write, mostly because what I wanted to express wasn't translating well into words. I hope that, in the end, it turned out well enough to convey the story I see in my mind! There's only a few chapters left (one or two, perhaps?) so I'm glad to finally have gotten this chapter completed.


	30. The Quiet

_“Please stop,” Keith whimpered, “you’re scaring me.”_

 

Fragments of an extinguished mind clung to old fears. They were little shards of ice melted from glaciers hunched over like mountains, always lurking, spinning endlessly. Here, there was no centre of the universe, no centre of anything, but the fragments spun just the same. There was nothing else they could do.

There was nowhere for them to go.

 

_“Keith, calm down.”_

 _His heart beat faster than a rabbit could run. Small fingers twisted into red sheets. His eyes were fixed on his knees, afraid to look away just in case everything else had changed, like he was scared it had. There was a bruise on his knee but he couldn’t remember what he’d hit it on._

_Hands covered his own, urging them to release the sheets. One was human; one was not. Keith jerked both of his hands back and twisted his fingers into his own shirt instead._

_“Keith,” Shiro tried again. Slow, patient, upset. He held both of his hands out, his pinkies close enough to touch, for Keith to take. “Come on, buddy. You have to breathe out eventually.”_

_He didn’t feel like that was true. He could hold his breath forever, and nothing would change. He wanted to hold his breath, but he couldn’t. One escaped, and then another, and then another, until they wouldn’t stop, and then he didn’t know if he wanted them to._

_“Breathe in again, buddy,” Shiro said. His hands were still open. Slow, patient. Less upset._

_Keith untwisted his fingers from his shirt, trembling. He pressed them both together, curling one set of fingers over the other hand’s knuckles. He put both in Shiro’s human hand. He breathed in._

_“There we go,” Shiro murmured. He folded his cold fingers over Keith’s hands, keeping him still. “There we go.”_

 

It was nothing. Nowhere and nothing went hand-in-hand; north and south, up and down, nowhere and nothing. 

Pieces started to condense. It was like the flash of a bird’s wings until a spot of light. One can compare endless things to the world around them, just like that bird and its lonely cylinder of illuminating light: a tear could become the first anonymous snowflake to fall in winter; the moment a person realises they’re in love becomes the moment when a plane roars miles above the ground; the feeling of falling becomes the slow descent of a leaf abandoned by fickle breezes. 

That was what it was like. Not the snow and its hollow silence, or the plane and the clouds it parted, or the dying leaves of a tree once thought brilliant for growing so large when it really had no say in the matter. No, it was not that – but it was like that. An action so profound and fragile that it was damned to echo in every small moment the world had to offer.

A flower bloomed for the first time.

A child’s first cries graced the ears of their labouring mother.

A bird’s wings flashed beneath a column of lonely light.

A soul was extinguished for the first time.

 

_“Pass him to me.”_

_“It’s okay, I’ve got him–”_

_“Takashi.”_

_Silence swelled. Shiro held Keith steady, one hand cradling the back of Keith’s head, the other holding him close. His arms were the only things keeping the scary things away._

_Shiro passed him over._

_There was a brief moment where no one held his weight, where he felt like he was going to fall, but his mother had a tight grip on him. She held him close, her arms looped under his thighs, and for the first time in a while she didn’t immediately set him back down._

_“It’s okay, Keith,” she whispered into his hair. She sounded like she believed it._

_But Keith didn’t know if he believed her. He always had, but then the fear felt bigger than his parents, bigger than Shiro, too. He put his face in her neck, and breathed in her perfume, letting it fill his lungs. It was safe and warm. He’d never been able to imagine what sort of flower it came from._

_Something had changed after Shiro died, and when he didn’t stay dead. Keith’s imaginary friends were as friendly as they were imaginary. His parents knew something was wrong. Shiro didn’t want to believe anything was wrong._

_But something was. Keith was scared because there were people only he could see and they always wanted something. He’d walked himself out of his front yard and onto the street because a woman had wanted him to pick flowers for her. A man had tried to get him to crawl out of his bedroom window because Keith didn’t know better. Others had haunted his sleep until he woke up gasping for air and crying for his parents._

_It was only getting worse._

_He could not be quiet anymore._

 

It is assumed that the quiet before the storm is the most frightening part of any accident, purposeful or otherwise. That part where sound darts away makes fear louder: one can hear heartbeats, can hear the absence of birds or the subtle intake of breath or the way something very bad was going to happen very quickly.

That’s what death was like.

Quiet.

Just the quiet.

 

_Keith sat beside Shiro. He mirrored Shiro’s position; elbows on knees, his head in his hands. He threaded his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes._

_After Shiro had died, things for Keith had gotten worse. He’d only been a kid, he hadn’t had the ability to know what was safe for himself or not. His parents had thought that it was all in his head, but there were some things that nobody could explain. Things his parents couldn’t protect him from._

_It was probably that fact that made them distant from him, even back then._

_Keith glanced at Shiro. His face was grey, his eyes bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, or like someone had taken him apart and put him back together wrong. As Keith watched, Shiro dragged his hands down his face and slumped back in the plastic hospital seat, putting one arm around his waist like he was trying to keep himself together._

_“Shiro?” Keith asked. He turned towards Shiro and held out a hand, but stopped short of touching him._

_His hand wasn’t right. The edges were fuzzy. He could see through them. When Keith moved his hand, clenching and unclenching all his fingers, there was a blurry silhouette that followed. It was like an after-image, or an echo. It wasn’t real._

_He wasn’t real._

_“Shiro?” He tried again. This time, he put his hand on Shiro’s shoulder, and tried to shake him. It didn’t work. He couldn’t get a solid grip, couldn’t feel anything beneath his palm. It was like trying to hold onto clouds, or fog. Impossible. Fear took hold of him. “Shiro!”_

_Nothing happened. Shiro didn’t even flinch. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back for a moment, swallowing deeply. Then he looked at his hands, palms turned up. His nails were dirty, something that Keith had never seen on Shiro before. He’d been working in the hospital for ages, and doctors didn’t have dirty fingernails._

_What had happened? What was happening?_

_“Shiro, please,” Keith begged._

_Nothing._

 

A steady, flat beep rang through his head like a siren.

 

“What’s happening to him? Tell me what’s happening to my child!”

“Miss, please, you have to leave the room–”

“That’s my son! What are you doing to him? Why isn’t his heart beating anymore?”

“Miss, you have to leave. The doctors can’t work if you’re here.”

“I can’t leave him!”

“Miss–”

“That’s my _son!”_

 

_Keith watched his mother collapse in on herself. She’d found an empty corridor, away from the waiting room and the operation rooms and the beds in the Blue Ward. She pressed her back against the wall and her chin crumpled and she looked like she’d cracked into a thousand pieces._

_He’d never seen her look like that. He wanted to go to her, but his feet were frozen to the ground. He couldn’t move his body, he didn’t know the right controls. Nothing felt real or normal. Nothing felt right._

_He watched his mother sink to the floor. She pressed her hands over her mouth to keep herself quiet while the world passed around her. While the world passed around them both. He didn’t know where his father was, but this hurt enough._

_This hurt more than enough._

 

If there was one thing keeping him anchored to the world, it was fear. He was frightened of ghosts and always had been, and he was frightened of what people would think. He’d always thought it had never gotten to him, that he’d never let it.

Death made him think otherwise.

Half the time he didn’t even know who he was. He was a collection of echoes and images, or something more and something less. Of nothing and of everything he was. Even if he tried piecing himself together, he couldn’t. Every time he tried he felt like he already had, and phantom feelings of failure kept him from trying harder.

It was like trying to claw his way out of a well where the water was rising and he was losing his will to move.

He started to think that maybe ghosts could die, too.

 

_There was a boy in a room in the Blue Ward. Keith was stuck there, but he didn’t know why, only that he was stuck there and for some reason being stuck made sense. He wanted to find Shiro again, to tell him that he was scared and that he needed help, but he found the boy instead._

_The room was empty, but it felt full. Blue balloons drifted above the bedframe, tied with plastic string. Dozens of flowers were scattered around the room. A white curtain lifted in a breeze he couldn’t feel, but the thought of it cooled his skin anyway. He stood by the end of the bed, feeling like there was less and less of him with every passing moment. One breath and he’d scatter in the wind._

_But the boy felt complete. Keith watched him, fascinated and fearful and too many other things to name. Too many other things for one person to feel._

_He’d never seen eyes so blue._

_Those eyes were fixed out of the open window. When the breeze lifted the curtain, the boy closed his gaze to the world, tilting his chin up ever so slightly. Strands of brown hair wisped across his forehead and cheeks. He looked at ease. He looked like he wasn’t afraid of anything. He looked sleepy and soft and like the world favoured him. Like it was easy to favour him._

_To love him._

_If this boy was the centre of the universe, then Keith would be more than glad to gravitate around him. Life and he were just the same._

 

“Come on, Keith. I know you’re there.” Fingers brushed hair away from his forehead. “You won’t believe what happened. I promise you, you’ll like it. But you need to open your eyes.”

_I can’t._

“There’s a world waiting for you here, buddy. More life to live.”

_I’m dead._

“Open your eyes, Keith.”

_I can’t, I can’t–_

“Please, Keith.” Breath ghosted across his neck. A forehead pressed against his shoulder. Cold fingers curled around his. “I’m still here, Keith. I promised you I’d never leave you again, and I won’t. But you can’t go to a place where I can’t follow.”

_I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead–_

“There’s someone you’ll want to meet, too. I promise Keith, you don’t need to be scared anymore. Just open your eyes.”

_I’m dead. I’m a ghost._

“You’ll always be my brother, Keith.” Shaky lips pressed against his forehead. “But I can’t be your brother if you’re not here. I won’t leave until you open your eyes.”

 

Keith opened his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be one more chapter after this (maybe two, because I disliek uneven numbers, so I might add something short after what I have planned for the next chapter). I feel like I've been writing this for so long, it's strange to think it's ending! I really hope it's been enjoyable to read ❤


	31. The World Had Given Him Everything

Days passed before Keith came back to himself. 

He was never fully sure what was real and what was something created by his mind.

Sometimes he woke up in a quiet room, hospital-standard sheets itching at his skin and white curtains fluttering by an open window. Sometimes he woke up to find his limbs made of glass, and inch by inch they were shattering into thousands of glittering pieces. Sometimes he woke up and found Sendak hunched over him with one massive hand curled around his throat, purple-black smoke dripping from between his bared teeth.

Sometimes he woke up and there was still shards of sharp ice lodged beneath his skin, even though he was sure everything he was seeing was real.

There was no part of him that could keep up with the doctors and nurses that flittered in and out of his room. He could pick out words from their hushed conversations, and knew that he’d heal. Eventually. From the outside, it seemed like he’d had a freak accident. He’d tripped at the top of a staircase, fallen down and hit his head on the tiled floor. The resulting injury put pressure on his brain, resulting in a coma. They’d drained the pressure, patched him up with stitches, and waited for him to wake up on his own. Eventually. Everything was _eventually._

Shiro told him he’d been out for a fortnight. That was a week ago now, but Keith was still struggling to keep his eyes open for more than a handful of hours at a time. The doctors said he was improving, but he spent every waking hour frustrated. Some coma patients woke up full of energy, with no recollection of their injury or their time spent in hospital. Others took ages to gather the pieces of themselves that had come unanchored and fix them all together again. Keith felt like there were still hundreds of pieces of him missing, floating further and further away with every minute he spent unconscious. He wondered if he’d ever get them back.

It didn’t feel like he would.

 

“Just be patient, Keith,” Shiro insisted, his hands firm on Keith’s shoulders, keeping him still.

“I want to walk around, Shiro,” Keith snapped. He tried to shake off Shiro’s grip, but couldn’t. The bed was making him feel worse, and all he wanted to do was take a walk around the Blue Ward, but Shiro wasn’t even letting him stand. “Let me up!”

There was a pinched look on Shiro’s face, one that promised an argument, but he relented. 

Keith swung his legs off the bed, kicking away the starchy blanket. He was unsteady, and he wobbled for a moment, but stayed standing. Shiro looked like he was ready to vault across the bed, but backed away when Keith sent him a withering look. He knew Shiro was worried, but smothering him wasn’t going to help him get better.

It wasn’t like he was unable to walk. He was out of practice, and his head was still sore, so his balance was off. Making it to the window and back was fine, and every day that passed had him standing for longer and longer, but there were times when he was on the verge of collapse. Shiro had had to catch him once a day after he’d first woken up, and it sent the man into a concerned frenzy. He hardly left Keith’s side, only venturing away to shower and return home for a short while. Work had given him some time off, but he was almost due back, and it made him stressed.

If for no other reason, Keith wanted to get better just so Shiro wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

“Can we go down to the cafeteria?” Keith reached for his jacket. He’d fought against every nurse who told him to wear patient scrubs, and had finally been allowed to wear his own clothes now that he was more mobile. Nothing too constricting, and only soft fabrics. Denim and leather was out of the question.

“If you’re hungry, we can call the nurse–”

“I’d rather eat cafeteria food. There’s only so much jelly I can consume, Shiro.”

Shiro let out a slow breath, but nodded. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.”

Keith could’ve grinned with relief. Shiro had let him walk around the Blue Ward a few times, and his parents had taken him down to the courtyard for fresh air, but that was as far as he’d gone. He long since really had gotten sick of jelly.

The cafeteria was teeming with people. There was something strange about hospital cafeterias that set Keith on edge but made him feel like a faceless person in a crowd. It was a liminal space. There was chatter, but it wasn’t obnoxious. No one blinked an eye when he or anyone came and went.

He hadn’t told Shiro yet, but the ghosts had returned. At first, there’d been none. Maybe he’d been so out of it after he woke up that he thought living people were ghosts, or ghosts were living people. He started noticing them again when he walked around the Blue Ward. They made him uneasy, but people were always dying, so there would never be a shortage of ghosts.

It was harder for him to notice them than before. Something in his mind hadn’t reconnected right. He wasn’t sure if it would fix itself – _eventually_ – but for now it was a tiring problem. Sometimes a nurse would catch him staring hard at a wall, unaware that he was trying to figure out if the ghost he was seeing was really a ghost after all. Other times it would be a person he was glaring at, and not only would he be horrified by his actions, but they would be too, and that was almost worse.

He felt like he was living in a body that wasn’t his own, or seeing through eyes that didn’t belong to him. It was disorientating and unfamiliar and sometimes painful. When the line between death and life blurred, everything inside him completely disassociated. 

By the time Shiro returned with food, Keith was developing a headache. He was glad to have food, and even gladder that Shiro mistakenly thought his frown was because he was hungry.

He was starting to feel like nothing would ever go back to normal.

 

During the middle of the night, something woke him up. He laid curled up beneath the covers for a long moment, taking stock of his surroundings. Nothing hurt, and no dream lingered in the forefront of his mind. Shiro had left the window pushed open, and a cool breeze was wafting through the room. He closed his eyes and let it touch his face, breathing out evenly.

It smelt like there was a storm in the air.

Shiro was sound asleep in the armchair. It pulled out into a bed, but he was too tall for it, so he was scrunched up under a thick blanket, head resting on his arm. Keith pressed a hand to Shiro’s leg, pausing for a moment. 

He really loved Shiro. 

He left the room quietly so that Shiro didn’t wake up. The cold floor stung his feet, but it was nothing like the ice prickling in his veins. Even when he rubbed his arms and pulled his jacket tighter around him it persisted. It was driving him mad. Shiro had already had to stop him from scratching himself until he bled after he woke up in a cold fit.

The hospital was quieter at night. Lights were turned dimmer, and the lamps in the courtyards were on. That was where he went, so that if Shiro looked out the window from his Blue Ward room, he’d see Keith, and he wouldn’t worry. Keith had so many memories tied up in the courtyard that for a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to step foot out into it. He pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, and then escaped into the night.

It was definitely going to storm later. Dark clouds covered the stars, shifting every now and then to reveal the moon. Keith sat on a wooden bench close to a lamp, letting it bath him in a pale, yellow wedge of light. He pulled the sleeves of his jacket over his hands and fiddled with the hems. 

He hadn’t seen Lance since he woke up. Or any of his… friends, for that matter. He thought he might have seen Hunk and Pidge once, but he was so out of it that he couldn’t remember saying anything to them. They might have visited while he was sleeping, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask Shiro in case the answer was no.

Realistically, he knew they were giving him space. They were visiting while he was asleep, or overwhelmed by work, or were busy seeing Lance. He was their original squad member, after all. Not Keith. 

Keith wanted to see Lance.

But he knew Lance wouldn’t remember him. Revived ghosts didn’t remember what happened while they were dead. Shiro hadn’t. He’d believed Keith when he’d told him about it – had been the only person to believe him, actually – but that didn’t mean he remembered. 

Keith was starting to remember. Some things were fuzzy, more like an afterimage than anything solid. He could remember all the bad dreams he’d had – they were from Sendak, not Lance. He could remember bonding with Lance. Sleeping in the same bed. Wanting to protect him. At times, he swore he could feel the cool press of a mouth at the corner of his lips. He’d spend several minutes staring into space, his fingertips pressed that spot.

Maybe they weren’t meant to be.

But he felt like he’d lost more than just a friend.

A ripple of thunder sounded overhead. Keith tilted his chin up, watching the sky. Part of him wanted to get caught out in the rain. A bigger part knew that he’d only make himself sick, and that Shiro would be mad at him.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he made his way back to his room. The noise of the rain outside made his anxious heart ease. Maybe he’d be able to sleep now.

As he rounded the corner to his room, he found someone standing by the door. It took Keith a moment to recognise him.

“Lance?” His voice was weak.

Lance rounded at the sound of his name. He looked so alive that Keith’s heart felt like it was going to burst. He wasn’t smudgy at the edges. The marks under his eyes were slowly disappearing, and his skin looked brighter, healthier. There was a liveliness to him that hadn’t been there before.

“Keith!”

Before he knew it, he was suddenly surrounded by _Lance._ Arms wound around his neck; knees pressed against knees. Lance smelt like vanilla and rain. He was warm. He held onto Keith tight enough that Keith felt like he was going to shatter. 

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” Keith croaked.

“No.” Lance pulled him in closer. He pressed their cheeks together, exhaling deeply. His fingers gingerly touched the side of Keith’s head, where they’d had to clip his hair short to see his wound. “You saved my life, Keith.”

“You remember.” It wasn’t a question. Lance remembered. Tears stung at the back of his eyes. He lifted his trembling hands and grasped fistfuls of Lance’s jacket. He never wanted to let go. He was _never_ going to let go.

Lance cupped his cheeks, smiling like the world had given him everything he’d ever wanted. He pressed their foreheads together, huffing with soft, muffled laughter. Life glinted like the sun glinting off the ocean in his blue eyes. His touch made all the ice beneath Keith’s skin melt away. He made Keith feel _alive._

And when Lance kissed him, he felt like the world was giving him what he wanted, too.

“Keith, how could I ever forget you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more short epilogue after this, but for all intents and purposes, this story is finished ^^ I really hope you enjoyed reading it! I really appreciate all the comments and support I've gotten, it really made this story a pleasure to write ❤ I'm definitely very fond of this one! It's one of my favourite creations, so I really hope you've liked reading it just as much as I did writing it ❤
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys the new year ^^


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